Hermione collapsed into the sofa -- the ICW didn't attempt to make prisoners feel like criminals, not in the way the Ministry did, apparently -- and rubbed at her aching forehead.

On the whole, though, Hermione was most puzzled with Severus' behaviour. She'd expected him to insist on remaining in the courtroom: had steeled herself to having to ignore his reactions.

Equally puzzling was the way he'd looked on her way out of the court: that awkward, strained set to his shoulders, and the way his eyes had gone dark and unreadable. She'd expected something from him -- a stern command to stay on her toes, or a nod of conditional approval, or.... Well, she didn't know what, but he was seldom at a loss for words these days when it came to advice.

Seeing Ron was, frankly, a delight. He looked as though he'd been flying all night -- probably had done -- and as though he were knackered and ready to keel over. She hoped Severus had the decency to see that he ate a good lunch: she imagined he would, if only to keep Ron from pestering him with questions.

A soft tap came at the door, and then it opened and Herr Schell shuffled through it.

"They'll bring lunch in a few moments," he told her. "I thought perhaps we might go over a few loose ends during it, once they're gone?"

"Yes, of course," she said. "Are Severus and Ron --"

"Yes, they're on their way to theirs. Your poor Mr Weasley looks quite exhausted, I do hope he'll be able to keep his eyes open. Oskar won't be pleased if he drops off."

"Severus will see that he doesn't," Hermione murmured with a twinge of regret for the likely state of Ron's toes and ribs by the hearing's end. "You needn't have sent the clerk to ask if he might stay, by the way. I'd assumed he'd want to."

"What Professor Snape wanted... and what is best for you in the circumstances, is not necessarily the same thing," Schell said carefully. "I believe he understands that now."

"Whatever did you say to him? You must've done."

Schell merely smiled and drew out his notes.

"I don't mind, really, and it's only fair. He's almost as much riding on the outcome as I have, after all. Of course he'd want to stay, to make certain I don't bollocks it up."

Schell's hands slowed; his eyebrows furrowed and he glanced at her uncertainly, and almost spoke; and then he shook his head and burrowed back into his valise.

"What is it?" she asked him.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head again, and smiled as he pulled out a flask and cups. "Would you like something other than coffee with your lunch? I have --"

"Oh, no thank you, no tea. I had far too much coffee this morning, I shall be climbing the walls soon."

"Cocoa," he contradicted her. "The universal panacea. Worth the caffeine, perhaps? It's Swiss, too -- quite the best."

"Yes, please," she said, and took the cup from him; he poured for her, and chuckled at her when the scent -- rich, dark, with just a hint of sweetness -- hit her nostrils, and her eyes closed reflexively in appreciation.

"No fair," she murmured, wrapping her fingers about the cup for its warmth. "You're quite a good judge of everyone's weaknesses, aren't you?"

"Very good, yes," he said as he poured himself a cup. "I've rather a lot of practise."

"And you have grandchildren and you spoil them something awful."

"Great-grandchildren, and of course. What else are they for, if not the pleasure of spoiling them?"

Hermione settled back into the cushions and sipped at the cocoa. (He was right: it was the best she'd ever had. Not even Pomfrey's high-quality medichocolate came close.)

Another knock came at the door, and Schell bid them enter -- the lunch, probably, for Hermione heard the clatter of cart-wheels on the stone floor, though she didn't bother to open her eyes until the deliverer had gone.

"Right, then," she said, setting the cup aside and reaching for her plate. "What do we need to go over?"

"This, primarily," Schell said, reached back into his valise, and pulled out a grotty-looking stuffed rabbit. "This is our... ace in the hole, do you call it?"

It took her a moment to place it: thoughts of rabbits and holes instantly brought Alice back to mind.

"Oh, cripes. I'd forgot what I'd done to it."

"I imagine Mohatmas will set it to rights," Schell said. "He's the best Charms practitioner alive, and he's quite good with Transfigurations, too."

Something niggled at the back of Hermione's brain. "He looks familiar, but I can't quite place him."

Schell frowned. "I believe he has family in Britain. Perhaps you went to school with his nieces or nephews."

That was it: the Patils had always gone on about their grand-uncle Hatma, and he'd visited once during a Quidditch-weekend. "Good Lord, will that be a problem?"

"You did?"

"We shared a dorm room. Well, one of the girls and I."

"What a small world. No, it won't be a problem," Schell said decisively as he tucked into the chicken on his plate. "He's an Indian national, not British. He probably isn't aware of any connection, and it's his responsibility, not ours, to disclose it in any case if he is. Now, remind me -- what exactly does this little beauty contain?"

"Flaherty's initial letter -- the one he put in the Left Luggage drop at St Pancras," Hermione said, enumerating carefully. "He talks about why he took the step of fleeing to Calais and deliberately putting himself in harm's way, the kind of documentation he'd found that led to his decision, and included the poetry that led us to Arden. Then there's the stuff we found at Arden -- the actual documents, contracts between the Ministry and Mangel and Mortars, the data from clinical trials at Azkaban, and notes that indicated how he imagined the product was to be dispensed to the population."

"Good," Schell muttered savagely around a mouthful of chicken. "That's the last bit I needed to complete the chain."

"You think they wouldn't have taken me seriously, without it?"

"They should have, I think, but might have dismissed the possibility of charging the Minister for lack of evidence. I need to prove that Fudge and Corcoran planned this long ago, and in the event that they destroy the documents on their end before the ICW can get hold of them. Moreover, this is further proof that Fudge and Corcoran -- or one of them, at any rate -- have caused the death of at least one person even before the dissemination of the potion, whether they intended to or not. More than Flaherty alone, actually."

"Oh, you did follow up on Lakewood and Teddington --"

"Yes. Habeas corpus is a remarkable instrument, really -- I've got the writs ready in case they go to full trial for your, so I'll just give them to the assigned Prosecutor if they proceed against Fudge and Corcoran instead. I'm asking for all the French and British documents on Flaherty's death, as well. I hope to keep Fudge and Corcoran busy for quite some time, explaining all this."

"You've got it all covered," Hermione murmured. "Don't know why Severus is so worried."

"I've been doing this a very long time, Madam Snape, and I'm used to playing all the possible scenarios out in my head and making plans for all contingencies. And he can't have known that about me, while I know something about him."

"How on earth --?"

"I... recall Dumbledore speaking of him once or twice," Schell said, looking up from his lunch rather guiltily. "And what with Hogwarts and what little I know of the war.... Yes, I knew Dumbledore. Quite the most enjoyable Supreme Mugwump I've ever dealt with. He spoke of a remarkable young man he'd engaged to teach, one who was quite good at winkling out information on certain matters -- but who couldn't quite grasp the whole picture."

"Really," Hermione said, fascinated, and dropped her fork to her plate, the better to prop her chin in her hands. "What else did he say?"

Schell hesitated, and then said, "I don't suppose it's anything you, as his wife, haven't already divined.... That while the boy had some admirable qualities, and had an innate sense of honour, Dumbledore feared that the man was flawed and should never... How was it that he put it? 'Should never quite be a whole human being.' Too deeply affected by things that happened in his past. He didn't elaborate beyond that, and I didn't pry."

"Doesn't matter," Hermione murmured, and went back to her meal. "I know what Dumbledore meant. The 'things,' I mean. Though I shouldn't want Severus to know that I know some of them. He didn't exactly tell me."

"I wouldn't tell him we'd spoke of him, in any case, so you needn't worry. He does seem the type to guard his secrets -- and yours -- quite jealously."

She wondered, though, if she could find a way to tell Severus that Dumbledore had cared for him. Probably wasted breath: Severus had made up his mind about Dumbledore for good and all, and if she told him this, she'd have to admit to knowing about the trial for Patricide.

No. Only if he were immensely drunk, physically incapacitated, and she'd been able to hide his wand where he shouldn't find it for several months.

"Anyway, what do you think they'll start with?" she asked Schell.

"I hope to lead off with how you became aware of the problems in the Ministry. Going over your manuscript, more or less."

"Oh, cripes."

"Won't be that difficult -- I can assure you that Oskar is forgoing his nap, and is skimming the transla-scription as we speak. Then we'll introduce Flaherty's evidence just at the point you received it, pick up with your narrative from that point, and so on. Do it all chronologically, provided I can keep Oskar on track. He does tend to tangent a lot once he starts to make all the connections."

They finished their meals in companionable silence, and Schell chivvied her into putting her feet up and having another cup of cocoa: she'd nearly dropped off by the time he gently shook her fully awake and told her it was quarter-two, and asked should she like to freshen up?

She would indeed, and spent the next ten minutes doing just that and marvelling that she felt far calmer than she remembered being in a long time. (She suspected Schell's cocoa was very potent.)

And then the guard escorted her back to the courtroom.

*****

First off, Severus hadn't done Ron any physical damage over luncheon (none that she could see, at any rate). That was a definite plus. Ron was pushing his luck, though, and kept leaning over to whisper in Severus' ear while she went through the boring preliminaries of name and nationality yet again with the justices. (It was probably a Very Good Thing Severus still hadn't his wand back.)

"She's all yours, Willi," Oskar said when they'd done -- still blunt, but seeming rather more focussed and intent than he had in the morning session, "Proceed as you will."

"Thank you," Schell said, and turned to her. "Madam Snape, would you please tell the Court how you came to be employed at the British Ministry, and precisely what your position entailed?"

And she started the story all over from the beginning, only glossing over her marriage to Severus as she couldn't see why that was relevant: neither Schell nor the senior justice pressed her on that point, thankfully.

Quite surprisingly -- given his earlier behaviour -- Oskar kept his bulbous nose out of most of the questioning, allowing her to speak freely and Schell to lead her where he wanted with his few questions; the justice interrupted only occasionally for clarification that she suspected was necessary due to the vagaries of the translation charm. It was astonishingly easy, in the main. Schell was very, very good at what he did: he seemed content to let her tell the story in her own way, and most of his questions, she realised, were intended to highlight bits that should become important later -- to make certain Oskar made those connections easily, no doubt. If she listened to Schell's words and phrasing very carefully, she found she could sense where, and in the manner, he wanted her to go.

She'd quite forgot that Severus and Ron were in the courtroom until the incident with the rabbit. Oskar wasn't at all pleased when Karl trotted it up to the dais, and it took a great deal of persuasion on Schell's part to calm him down.

"-- sort of game are you playing at, Willi?"

"I assure you, Oskar, it's not a game. It was the only way Madam Snape could find to keep the evidence safe."

"I can vouch that it --" she heard Ron say quite loudly, and turned just in time to see Severus grasp Ron's jacket-sleeve and jerk him back down on their bench. (He must've trod on Ron's foot, too, even though he continued to stare gravely at the justices: a look of exquisite agony crossed Ron's face for no apparent reason at all after his bum hit the bench.)

"What was that?" Oskar growled, half-crouched with a hand on his left boot. (Hermione had no idea why; but she'd given up trying to figure out the odd bugger some time ago.)

Schell turned back to the dais -- he'd whipped round to glare at Ron -- and said apologetically, "I was going to call Mr Weasley in any case, Oskar. He's had the keeping of the evidence since...."

"January second," she quietly supplied when Schell glanced at her.

" -- and I should like you to hear how she represented it to him, and for him to confirm that it hasn't been meddled with."

"Right, get on with it," Oskar said as he straightened. (The other justices sighed as one. More oddness: she'd have to ask Severus about them later, as she must have missed something important.) "Into the Witness-stand, Weasel."

Schell turned and nodded to Ron, and Ron stood and marched up to the Witness-box muttering "Weasley."

"Mr Weasley, the... object came into your possession on January second of this year, then?"

"Right. Hermione visited my parent's home in Ottery-St-Catchpole, and gave it to me."

"And what did she tell you it actually was?"

"She didn't. She handed it over in just the form you see now. I mean, I knew it was something else and that she'd transfigured it -- she did it in front of me, though it was still in her bag so I never got a good look at it."

"Did you discuss what it actually was?"

"No, but I guessed it had something to do with the Marriage Laws -- the new British Marriage Laws -- and she told me to bugger off and mind my business. Begging the Court's pardon," Ron added hastily.

"So you thought it was to do with the Laws only?"

"Yeah, sort of. I mean, we talked a lot about why she'd married Sn- Professor Snape, 'cause we'd all been kind of knocked silly by that."

Hermione felt her ears beginning to burn, and had to restrain herself from looking at Severus. She could guess his reaction, at any rate.

"But we also talked earlier about why she needed me to keep it, and she'd said she was in trouble with the Ministry -- or potentially in trouble -- and needed it kept safe," Ron continued. "Said it was terribly important, for everyone as well as for her. I figured out later that it had to be something bigger than just the Marriage Law business."

"So you conspired with Madam Snape to hide documents from the British Ministry?" Oskar rumbled from the dais.

"Well.... Yeah," Ron said defiantly. "She's my friend, known her since we started at Hogwarts, and I knew she'd have a bloody good reason for doing something like that. I know the Ministry too, you see. Don't trust them further than I could chuck them. And while I didn't know what it was, I hadn't any reason to think they were government documents, not the way you're implying. Still don't."

"Proceed," Oskar said with a glower.

"And where has the bunny been since that conversation on January second?" Schell asked, all seriousness.

"We went home to Chudleigh next day, and it's been on the back of a shelf in the garden-shed ever since."

"Are you certain of that?"

"Yes. I keep the shed warded, 'cause our kids are too young to be mucking about with the hedge-shears and stuff. I don't believe anyone's been in there since I put it in, and I only dug it out at about one this morning. I didn't even tell my wife where and what it was, otherwise Mr Schell would have had it before today."

"Anything else, Oskar?" Schell asked the justice, who shook his head. "Good. Thank you, Mr Weasley."

Ron loped his way back to the bench and plopped back down next to Severus -- who shifted several inches in the other direction.

"Justice Patil, would you care to attempt a re-transfiguration?" Schell suggested.

"Not really," the man said, eyeing the rabbit warily. "It's been too long for my taste. What I would suggest is that the Court grants Madam Snape the use of her wand for a moment. It works far better if the original transfigurationist reverses it."

There was an inevitable delay -- which Oskar didn't appreciate -- while the bailiff fetched Hermione's wand and waited with his own wand drawn on her while she changed the rabbit back to oilcloth-wrapped box; then her wand was whisked away, and she was returned to the Defendant's box while the justices poured over Flaherty's papers. (They spelled away the translation charm while they examined them, but Hermione caught bits of exasperated, and sometimes rather blue, German, particularly from Oskar.)

"This doesn't," Oskar said once he'd re-instated the translation charm, staring at Schell, "prove anything except that this Flaherty was a snoop, a thief, and very possibly unhinged."

"We have independent evidence that corroborates Flaherty's version of things," Schell said softly. "Quite a lot, in fact. Then there's the matter of what happened to Flaherty, and the cover-up of his death. We can move on to that if you like, Oskar, or we can continue with Madam Snape's testimony and get to it in due course...."

Oskar grumpily decided that 'in due course' might be best, and the hearing continued much as it had before the Incident of the Rabbit.

By the time they'd got through everything -- including a sworn, written statement from François DeLaine (who wasn't required to attend), testimony from Severus regarding the potion, and a report from that Blücher fellow which not only confirmed, but supplemented, Severus' findings -- it was nearly six o'clock: Hermione was exhausted, and didn't know whether she wanted sleep, food, or the loo more. She couldn't tell whether she'd defended herself -- and Severus -- well, at all: she'd been so focussed on every moment, every nuance of Schell's questions, and in trying to remember everything properly and fully, that it all seemed like a blur and that she'd been in the box forever.

"We're going out to discuss this," Oskar said when Schell had summed everything up and called for a judgement. "All of you stay put.... Erm, Bailiff, you can let the Defendant down, let her take a seat. And bring them some coffee, or something -- Oh, forget it, here it is," he added moodily and snapped his fingers, and a full coffee-set appeared on the Defence-table. "I suspect this will take a while, so at ease."

The bailiff let her out of the box as the justices exited, and left to guard the doors from the outside; and Hermione was alone with Schell and his clerk, and Severus and Ron. (Ron seemed rather disappointed when, rather than wedging herself past Severus and sitting between them, she simply collapsed on Severus' end of the bench.)

"Bloody hell, 'Mione," he muttered, leaning forward to see around Severus, "why didn't you tell me? This is.... It's --"

"Because she didn't want you implicated, you idiot," Severus hissed. (It was much what Hermione was thinking, although she wagered she could have managed it more politely.) "Merlin's balls, half your family is in it one way or the other, and she didn't want you dragged off as well if it came to the worst --"

She couldn't reach Severus' near arm -- it was rather firmly plastered across her back, his fingers digging into her hip -- and so she lay a hand on his knee to calm him, leaned toward Ron, and said, "He's right, actually. It wasn't that I didn't trust you, you prat."

"What do you mean, half the family's --"

"If you'd gone to work a sensible job at the Ministry with your father, you'd know," Severus shot back, more smugly than Hermione thought necessary.

"All right, stop it, both of you," Hermione snarled, tired of the nonsense from both of them. "I'm knackered, I want this bloody well over with, and I don't have the energy to put up with you two going at it hammer-and-tongs."

"My thoughts exactly," Schell said brightly, and promptly handed her a cup of coffee, heavily creamed. "You've all done very well, and there's no point in hashing out whose feelings are hurt and why at the moment. You'll have time for that later."

"You think they'll acquit, then?" Severus said as he took a cup from Schell's clerk.

"I think we've a very good chance. Oskar's only taken his boot off the once, and that's a very good sign."

"However, even with an acquittal.... Well, as I've said before, I think you'll be living in Liechtenstein for a while," Schell said. "The Prosecutor will want you to hand, I'm sure."

Severus snorted.

"A very beautiful country it is," Karl the clerk gravely told Severus as he handed Ron a coffee. "The skiing is terrific. And my cousin a boarding-house in Vaduz owns, she's a wonderful cook --"

"Not now, Karl," Schell muttered under his breath. "And her cooking's mediocre, but never mind -- family loyalty is a wonderful thing."

"You won't be working the case?" Hermione asked Schell.

"No, I only do Defence. The Prosecutor will undoubtedly consult with me, however -- I've done half his work for him already, what with the subpoenas and writs. You shan't have to start all over again."

"Bloody hell, you mean they'll actually try to prosecute Fudge and --?" Ron asked Schell, eyes wide.

"I hope so. They've a lot to answer for."

Ron gave a whoop, and Severus nearly pushed Hermione off the end of the bench to avoid the coffee that slopped over the edge of Ron's saucer.

:"That's it, then," Ron said, and took a huge gulp of what was left of his coffee.

"What do you mean, you oaf?" Severus said.

"Two things can get a serving Minister for Magic knocked down -- a vote of no-confidence from the Wizengamot, or a successful prosecution by the ICW," Ron explained.

"Theoretically a criminal charge by the Wizengamot would as well," Schell interjected.

"Right, like that's ever happened or is likely to. But this..... That's it, the bugger's out."

"If," Schell gently reminded him, "it is successful. If Fudge isn't able to wriggle out of it."

"Blast," Ron muttered, crestfallen. "He'd bloody good at that."

"Perhaps. But Professor and Madam Snape were quite careful to gather enough evidence. As I said, I hope it will do."

They all went quiet for a while, working at their coffees; and then Ron leaned forward to peer at her again, grinned, and said, "I was right, wasn't I?"

"About what, Ron?" She wasn't in the mood to put up with Ron's mood swings now: the only good thing about them was they seldom lasted too terribly long, unlike Severus'.

"About him," Ron said, and jerked his head toward Severus. "Kept you out of a lot of trouble, didn't he?"

Severus' back went very stiff and he pulled his arm from about her, ostensibly to hold his cup and saucer more firmly.

"Yes, Ron, he.... Oh, bloody hell, he's right here. Why can't you just thank him and be done with it?"

"I would, but he said some really nasty things to me at lunch and I'm not speaking to him."

"You are speaking to him when it suits you, and you probably deserved whatever he said."

"He did," Severus interjected. "He --"

"I know he must've done, Severus, that's not the point, and you don't have to tattle. I'm sure you gave as good as you got, in any case."

"Right, then," Ron said decisively, and stared straight forward. "Thanks for keeping her safe for me. For us."

"I didn't do it for you --" Severus hissed, stopped himself, and buried his face in his coffee-cup.

"No, you did it for her, but it's nearly the same thing. So thanks anyway,"

Severus refused to -- or couldn't -- answer: but his shoulders relaxed a bit, and when he brought the coffee-cup down from his lips his elbow brushed against Hermione's, and he didn't pull away.

*****

It took the panel nearly two hours to reach a judgement, during which time everyone in the courtroom made trips to the loo. Schell broke out his cocoa-flask, and they all partook of it -- all except Severus, who gave Schell and the flask a suspicious look, and politely declined: and then the bailiff came back in and told them they were going back in session, and that Hermione should take the Defendant's box again.

Oskar looked quite grim when he took his seat.

"The verdict of the panel is unanimous," he said after drawing the hood of his robe up over his black cap. "Madam Snape is free to leave this Court."

There was a strangled exhalation from the benches, and then a muted "Whoop!" from Ron -- which meant Severus must have been the one holding his breath.

"Wait, Oskar," Schell demanded. "She's cleared, but what of her innocence?"

"Surely you jest, Willi," Oskar said sourly. "Don't stretch it. She's guilty of the charge, all right. So is Professor Snape, for that matter, as an Accessory. But we find her actions justified, and we decline to take further steps against her. Neither do we feel it necessary to remand her into British custody, as there are reasons we wish her to remain in ours, or at least to remain in Liechtenstein for the time being, until such time as the Confederation grants her full travel privileges --"

"Then you're going to recommend proceedings against --"

"Yes, Willi -- what do you take us for? The evidence may be unusual, but it's compelling. She can have her wand back -- so can he -- but they're to remain within our territory, and their whereabouts known to me. If they flee, it's on your head. Court is adjourned," Oskar added in a bawl, and the justices rose and staggered out of the courtroom.

Ron didn't even let her get out of the Defendant's box, but shot up the steps and hugged her breathless.

"Ron -- urk --"

"I knew it," he muttered in her ear, and squeezed so tightly that he nearly cracked her ribs. "I knew it. Bloody hell, 'Mione, do you know what this means?"

"I'm going to need to tape my ribcage, is what it means --"

"All the stupidity's going to end, that's what --"

"Not necessarily, Mr Weasley," Severus said from the foot of the box. "None of us can predict who will replace Fudge, or their opinion of the situation."

"You can't," Ron said, grinning. (Hermione was certain he was keeping his arms about her just to put Severus' nose out of joint -- and it was working, despite Severus' strange lapse into good manners: his face was growing more thunderous by the second.) "Just because I don't work with Dad doesn't mean we don't talk politics."

Schell interrupted his conversation with the bailiff and shuffled over. "You're welcome to stay in the tower tonight, Madam Snape -- indeed, I would recommend it -- and we can get you sorted with better lodging tomorrow."

"Can I stay here?" Ron asked.

"No, sir, you cannot. And furthermore," Schell added sternly, waggling a finger at him, "you are going to turn around and fly home first thing tomorrow morning. You are not to open your mouth about anything that occurred in this courtroom. In fact, you were never here for any length of time. You flew in, delivered the package -- you have no idea what it was, it was a personal favour for Headmistress McGonagall, so make certain she knows that when you return -- and since you weren't allowed to stay to observe you found lodging and slept all afternoon and evening, as you were exhausted."

"But my dad will want to --"

"Nobody and not one word, Mr Weasley. You don't even tell Headmistress McGonagall. Not even your wife. The success of the prosecution's case will depend largely on the element of surprise -- on seizure of further evidence, in short -- which will be totally spoilt if the dispositions of Professor and Madam Snape's cases leak."

"Right," Ron muttered. "Uh, I don't suppose they take Galleons at lodgings here, do they? And not many, at that? I didn't stop to worry about cash."

"I suppose, under the circumstances, you might come home with --" Schell began, and then stopped himself, sizing Ron up: and then he shook his head and raised his voice. "Karl, once you're done clearing away, would you take Mr Weasley to your cousin's? I'm sure he'd be comfortable there. We'll just... start an account with her."

"Yes, Magister," Karl said, finishing up his tidying.

"Damn, and I wanted to tell you --" Ron said earnestly to Hermione.

"No, you don't, Mr Weasley -- off with you," Schell said, barely beating Severus to it. "She's tired. And thank you," he added more gently as Ron sulkily let loose of Hermione and stomped down the stairs. "I'm aware that you put yourself at considerable risk to get the documents here, and I appreciate that a great deal. Have a good rest before your flight, and be safe."

Ron sighed, and took Schell's hand for a shake; eyed Severus, and elected for a polite nod in lieu of physical contact; and gave Hermione one parting shot before he gave up entirely. "You owe me, "Mione."

Her jaw dropped. "I like that. Whatever happened to --"

"You owe Lee, rather. A big, pink rabbit. She bawled for hours and hours when I took it away, and a few days later," he said over his shoulder as he retrieved his coat from the bench, "she saw a real one in the garden and asked for it."

"Of course I was going to get her something to.... Ron, she asked for it?"

"Yeah," he said, not bothering to turn back to her as he strode for the door. "Asked for it, and threw another fit when I wouldn't let her at it. And now," he said, finally glancing back at her as he stepped through the doors, "she won't bloody well shut up. It's lovely!"

Hermione stared after him as the doors closed, and heard Schell sigh.

"What a nice young man," he said to Severus, "but I just knew he would talk my ear off if I took him home. I do hope I didn't seem impolite, but I need my sleep tonight."

"You did the right thing. No shame in trying to preserve your sanity," Severus muttered back.

"Ah, well. He'll like Berthe's cooking, no matter how badly she burns the roast."

Severus snorted.

Funny thing -- she could hear Severus and Schell nattering away about Ron, and was vaguely aware that they weren't being altogether complimentary toward him: she should have cared about that, but she couldn't quite find the energy to object.

She couldn't find the energy to do anything but keep herself standing upright, actually.

"Why, by the way, didn't the justice simply render a Not Guilty verdict, as with me?" she heard Severus ask Schell. "I'm not terribly pleased that any record she now has will reflect that."

"Oh, quite right, I've been lobbying them to consider changing that for years. They don't go for any of that 'Not guilty by reason of,' I'm afraid -- if you've done it, you've done it, and they may consider your intent and the circumstances justified or not -- but you still did it, do you see? I suppose the verdict is closest to... well, I can't think of a wizarding one, but I believe Scottish Muggles have one of 'Not proven,' which comes closest."

"Blast. How will that affect her future? Employability, things like that?"

"Not at all -- there won't be a record per se to begin with, not as the matter was settled in the preliminary hearing and the charge dismissed.... Is she quite all right?"

"Hermione? Hermio-- Oh, bloody hell."

There was creaking on the stairs below her, and then Severus was before her, turning her face up to his with a warm hand under her chin.

"Are you all right?" he whispered.

"Tired," she managed.

"Schell, would you ask them to send dinner up to the tower?" Severus asked the man, his eyes never leaving Hermione's. "I think I'd best get her upstairs."

"Goodness yes, I'll ask them to send it up as soon as possible," Schell said, his voice worried.

"'M all right, really --"

"Come along," Severus ordered, and guided her slowly down the stairs, his hands on her elbows to keep her steady.

"Should I send for a healer?" Schell asked as he hurried over to gather up his valise and cloak.

"No.... I don't know. I think she's simply exhausted, but --"

"I'll tell the Warden she might need attention later, then, and that the guards should fetch one if necessary --"

"Don't need a healer," Hermione said, and glared at Severus, two steps below her on the stair: he started to retort, looked away and calmed himself, and looked back up and her and said, "Probably not. But it's sensible to be certain we can get you one immediately, if one's needed. Agreed?"

"Fine," she muttered.

"Get some sleep," Schell said, voice anxious, when Severus had got her all the way out of the box, and the old man juggled his valise to the other arm and squeezed her shoulder. "I shall see how late I can set your meeting with the Prosecutor."

*****

Gutenberg was not a particularly large castle, but it might as well have been as immense as Hogwarts: the corridors seemed much longer on the way back to their rooms than they had a mere seven hours ago, and the twisty little stair up their tower was interminable. They had to stop midway up when she got a bad case of the shakes.

"Just.... Stay still and vertical, will you?" Severus muttered, propping her up against the baluster. "I can't carry you the rest of the way, damn it, my.... You're a healthily-built girl."

Right, she thought, and suppressed an hysterical giggle. You're afraid your knee will give out. And it probably should, poor man....

When the worst of it had passed they inched their way upward; and once the guard had opened the door for them and closed it behind them, Severus did take the risky -- and unprecedented -- step of swinging her up into his arms and staggering over to the bed.

"Don't, Severus, you'll -- "

"Shut up," he muttered. "You're not that plump, and I can manage level ground."

He dumped her on the bed and disappeared for a bit, with the observation, "They've put our wands on the table," and returned with a cool, wet flannel for her forehead and a shawl to wrap about her shoulders.

"Stupid," she murmured. "Don't know why.... Don't mean to be a nuisance."

"Nerves," he said tersely as he pulled her shoes off and stuffed several pillows under her calves. "Nerves, and too much caffeine, I expect. Should have anticipated it. Stay put until dinner arrives."

He plunked the flannel over her forehead and eyes and left her again, and she heard him rummaging about the room, refreshing the fire -- with his wand, as she caught his murmur of satisfaction at having it back in his hand again. She didn't much care to be in the dark, and wanted to sit up and watch him: but her arms felt as boneless as the rest of her, and she was incapable of moving the flannel out of the way.

"D'you think we ought go to Karl's cousin's?" she hazarded, grasping at anything to keep him talking.

"Why not?" he shot back from across the room. "Though if there's anything worse than German cookery, it's bad German cookery."

"Well, there is that. No, I really thought we might be safer in Muggle lodging, actually. They mightn't think to look for us there."

"Stay at an unwarded Muggle place, and have to conceal our wands and everything else? No, thank you," he retorted. "I've had my fill of subterfuge and hiding what I am. I'd rather stay here than go through that."

"But --"

Something clattered to the floor on the other side of the room, and she heard him stride over and felt the mattress dip at either side of her head as he bent over her.

"Hermione," he said in that slow, measured voice that meant, she knew, that he was trying very hard indeed to keep his temper, "we are not entirely out of danger. Moreover, you're not in any condition at the moment to make decisions. Trust me to make the arrangements and try to sleep for a little while, or I shall put you to sleep."

"You wouldn't --"

"I would. It's that, or I shall call a healer and ask for Draught of the Living Death for you --"

He paused, and the mattress dipped again as he sat beside her; and then he delicately brushed the dampened fringe away from her forehead.

"You did very well today," he whispered. "You've earned a rest -- take it. The Prosecutor will need to see you quite a lot in the next few days, I imagine."

"That won't be that difficult --"

"It shall, you're already bloody tired of going over it all. Having to re-live it. Take my word on that, it's not easy -- and there's still a great deal riding on your future performance." He bent closer to her ear, his breath tickling, and added, "Now go -- to -- sleep."

"Bully," she muttered.

"I'll take that, for once. Pity you're forcing me to behave as such, I don't much feel like having to."

He waited a moment to make certain she was going to shut up and do as he commanded, she supposed: and then he rose from the bed and moved across the room and back, and she felt him lay something over her and snug it up around her shoulders. (It smelt like him, but was far too long to be his frock-coat: his cloak, then, she guessed.)

"I'll wake you when the meal's here," he said, and then drew the bed-curtains.

She did doze, despite the jittery, itchy feeling in her brain; she woke fully once, when the silly cuckoo-clock on the other side of the room began to squall seven o' clock. Severus cursed, and then she heard a fizzle and the dying wail of the clock's mechanism.

"What is this strange propensity for killing clocks?" she murmured.

"It was an annoying little bastard," he grumbled. "And you're not sleeping."

"Was, a bit. Can I get up now?"

"Wait for dinner."

Of all the -- Cripes.

She did drop back off, though, sooner and more deeply than she thought possible, comforted by the thought that if Severus was back to his old, irritable, annoyance-destroying self, then something like true normality couldn't be far ahead after all.

*****

He woke her after dinner had been put on the table -- she'd slept though the noise of its arrival -- and got her settled before tucking into his own meal. He seemed to have got a bit of his own composure back, for he didn't fuss over her nearly as much: nor did he seem willing to talk. (He kept an eye on her, though. She caught him watching her intently once or twice, noting how much she was or wasn't eating, and how deftly she was managing her fork and knife.)

"What," she asked much later, curled up on the deep sill at the window, "shall we do if we can't go back?"

"Damned if I know," he muttered, intent on the book before him. "You'll be all right, I'm sure."

He was reading Priscilla, damn it, but then she couldn't fault him for resorting to it: he'd been through everything else, even the Shakespeare. She doubted he'd pick up anything new from the silly thing anyway, not given some of his suggestions in December -- and not that she had to worry about that until they had access to contraceptive potion again.

She leaned her forehead against the frost-etched windowpane, stared at the moonlit mountain behind the tower, and considered that she should have to worry about that soon. She couldn't imagine that Liechtenstein apothecaries wouldn't stock contraceptive: she'd be greatly surprised if Severus didn't find a shop and purchase some at the first opportunity.

Except that he had been very restrained, recently, his perusal of Priscilla notwithstanding. She wasn't entirely certain that it was just the lack of potion, either.

She tucked the thought away as a bit too dangerous to explore, for the time being: no sense in starting something they couldn't see through to what Severus probably thought of as its natural conclusion. She couldn't see him giving her that kind of power even if he didn't, either -- of allowing her to bring him to climax by hand (or to try to, given how clumsy she'd undoubtedly be at first). There was almost always a quid pro quo on his part, seeing that she climaxed -- even though she didn't want it, damn him -- but sex invariably ended with him in the dominant position. She couldn't imagine him giving her that kind of control.

Not that she'd given him any choice, as she'd refused to participate much.

The rest of their lives -- wherever they should end up living them.

"I mean, should you really mind France that much if we had to go there?" she asked, shaking herself out of her thoughts. "If it's just the language-barrier --"

"N'est pas la langue," he growled rapidly. "C'est la peuplade. Tous pédés qui pètent plus haut de son cul."

His accent was acceptable -- barely -- but his vocabulary left something to be desired.

"Are not," she argued, well aware that his intention was to shock her into shutting up.

"C'est ça. Les femmes aussi -- une grande bande des gouines."

"Some pseudo-intellectual French brewer -- homosexual or not -- ripped apart a journal article of yours once, didn't they?" she asked.

Spot on: he glared at her and refused to confirm or deny it, and wouldn't speak to her until well past bed-time -- and only then to tell her to stop hogging the covers, and that he wasn't about to let her warm her feet on his again -- ever.

*****

Thursday, February 16th

Thursday morning was spent in packing up the few pitiful belongings they'd acquired while in custody, and in preparing to meet with the Prosecutor.

The man, when they met him, was rather younger than Schell, and far more shark-like; he was also less gentle, grilling Hermione over points in her testimony, and giving both of them grief about a few things in their manuscripts. (Severus was right: it was intensely wearing on the nerves to go through it all once again.) It was to be expected though, she supposed: the Prosecutor had a lot on his plate. One didn't shoulder the responsibility of bringing criminal charges against a prominent government official every day (and a foreign one, at that). Schell was there, blessedly, to act as a translator over the stickier bits -- and, incidentally, to keep her focussed, and Severus' temper under control, which was no mean feat.

Hermione decided that no matter how atrocious his bill ended up being, it was worth it for the last reason alone.

*****

Later that afternoon Severus deemed Karl's cousin Berthe's house in Vaduz unworthy.

"Too many exterior doors," he snapped after a tromp through the place. "Between that and the food...."

(Berthe, a podgy young hausfrau with the beginnings of a moustache, knew just enough English to pick up on that, and bristled.)

"Right," Schell said, and glance at Hermione with a long-suffering sigh. "There's another option, but it's more expensive. You'll have to hire a cook and furnishings."

"We'll manage," Hermione said, though she didn't know how as she had no way as yet to make arrangements with her bank or Gringott's: she'd changed what little Muggle cash she had in her handbag to Swiss francs when they'd reached Vaduz, but those wouldn't go far.

Schell led them -- sped them, rather -- to Schellenberg, and to a small timber-framed house on the outskirts of the village: it looked like a German version of the Shrieking Shack, though on a smaller scale.

"Haven't been here in a while," he said as he unwarded the lock and fumbled with the latch. "Far fewer doors, Professor Snape, but I lose track of it as the Muggles keep moving it. It's almost as bad as having one of our Unplottable charms on it in reverse."

"It's not a wizard structure, then?" Hermione said, watching Severus out of the corner of her eye.

"It was until the witch-burnings in the 1660s. The family that owned it from 1518 to then got it back eventually, but by then they'd assimilated. They throw off a Muggleborn every long once in a while, though, one who appreciates the place." Schell grunted as he pushed at the sticky door, and staggered when it finally gave and opened fully. "I... have access to it -- it's not used for anything any longer, but it's protected under Muggle restrictions -- so you should be safe here."

He ushered them in, and they walked through the small, empty, low-ceilinged rooms: Severus, after checking the few, tiny windows throughout the first and second floors, finally returned to the main room and nodded to Schell.

"Good," Schell said, obviously relieved to have them sorted. "I'll... have the owner re-instate the anti-Muggle wards, and I'll ask Karl to bring by some furniture. Shall we go back to Gutenberg? I'm sure they wouldn't mind too terribly if you -- "

"No," Severus said quite abruptly. "No, Hermione's a fine Transfigurationist -- we can make do for a day or two, thank you."

Poor Schell looked utterly bewildered; Hermione took pity on him, drew his arm through hers, and walked him to the door, saying, "It's not a problem, is it? If we stay tonight, before making the proper arrangements with the owner?"

"Oh, no, no -- Good evening, Professor, I'm sure I'll see you in a day or two --"

Severus grunted.

"-- it's just that I had the impression that your husband likes his creature-comforts," Schell explained as they stepped outside.

"He does, but he likes his privacy more," Hermione said in an undertone. "He's, erm.... I think he's quite relieved to be out of ICW custody, actually. He had a friend whose case went badly. Quite badly."

"Oh, I see. I thought perhaps it was part of his general, ah, testiness."

"That too," Hermione said wryly. "It's not that he doesn't appreciate everything you've done, it's just that he's too preoccupied to observe the niceties."

"Good. Good that he's preoccupied with the lay of the land, that is. I really wouldn't have brought you here if I thought he were the type to become careless."

"Don't worry, he's paranoid enough for all three of us. I am worried about.... Well, where is the grocer's about here? I can't transfigure a decent meal."

"There's a Muggle one back in the village just off the square, you can't miss it. You've no pots or pans yet, though."

"We'll just have to picnic on the floor. Serves him right."

"You've enough money?"

"For the time being.... Thank you so much, Herr Schell. We can't begin to --"

"No," Schell corrected her gently. "Firstly, it's Willi -- you're no longer my clients. Secondly, this is... partly in payment of a very old debt, not that I shouldn't have worried over you just as much. And thirdly," he said, drawing his cloak about himself more tightly, "get inside before you catch a chill. The woodshed is outside the back door, and it should be full."

"Thank you anyway," she said, and stood on tip-toe to give the old man a kiss to each cheek. (He went even pinker in the cheeks than the cold had already done to him.) "Oh, the lease --?"

"Taken care of already," he said with a vague wave of his hand as he walked away from her. "I'll have Karl see to cook and furniture tomorrow." He stepped outside the gate, warded it, and sped away back toward Gutenberg; and Hermione let herself back in to the little house to confront the very irritable viper she suspected was waiting for her.

"Woodshed's out back," she called over her shoulder as she warded the door.

"Found it," Severus shouted back.

Indeed, when she walked into the main room, she found he'd already started a fire and was busy blocking any light from escaping the windows.

"What about the fire?"

"Smokeless," he grunted. "You're not the only one who knows some useful fire-charms."

"You didn't even give him time to discuss the lease-terms with us," she said, trying to keep as much reproach out of her voice as possible. "Or to see if the owner minds if we doss down for the night before it's signed for."

"He doesn't need to speak to the owner. And I'm willing to wager," Severus said grimly, "that the hire for the house itself will be nil, providing we don't burn it down." (He snorted at that, as if it were a private joke.)

"What?"

He looked at her quite sharply. "You are off your game, Hermione. Wilhelm Schell takes us to Schellenberg, has no difficulty at all with a difficult ward, a ward for a house which he has no little acquaintance with since he knows the Muggles have moved it several times...?"

"Oh, blast."

"Right."

"I thought he lived in Gutenberg."

"Probably does, to be near the Court. And since the family home was co-opted centuries ago by the Muggles, and he can't count on always having access to it...."

"Good God, are you telling me he's --"

"One of the Muggleborns in the family, yes, I should think so. A family largely killed off in the bloody persecutions."

"Cripes."

"It gets worse," Severus said, and jerked his head toward the staircase. "Go look at the right-hand window in the larger room."

Hermione climbed the little stair, entered the larger of the two rooms, and squinted at the panes in the dying afternoon sun. She couldn't see anything for a while; and then, by running her fingers over the glass, she found a rough spot, breathed on it to bring up a haze of frost, and made out a faint AD '44 scratched into the lower-right pane.

"Oh, for Christ's sake --"

Severus, below in the main room, heard her and barked out a laugh of agreement.

"He uses it as a safe house," she said as she trudged back down the stair. "When he can, at least. I wonder what he and Dumbledore were up to?"

"Grindelwald, judging by the date. Merlin's hairy arse," Severus said, gloomy, "the bastard's been dead a decade, and I still can't get shut of him."

"Oh, Severus, you.... Never mind," she said, pulling on her gloves and making for the front door.

"Where are you going?"

"To the grocer's, unless you want to go to bed without any dinner at all."

"You are not going by yourself."

"I am. They're not going to be looking for a lone female in Muggle clothing, particularly since she'll be passing herself off as French. One female and one broody, definitely not-really-Muggle male who can't manage decent German or polite French will be noticed, so stay put."

She didn't wait for either sneer or further argument, but skived off directly: and she was more than a little relieved when Severus didn't follow.

*****

Her pocket-money just covered bread, cheese, cold meat, a bottle of wine, and a few candles.

It did not extend to Muggle condoms at the chemist's, which were her only option since Schellenberg didn't have to a wizarding quarter.

*****

Quite surprisingly, Severus didn't grumble at the spareness or simplicity of their dinner. Apart from a certain thin-lipped tension that disappeared shortly after she returned unharmed, in fact, he seemed to go out of his way to be agreeable, having lugged in sufficient logs to feed the fire overnight and for her to transfigure a bed-frame.

"Don't bother with table and chairs," he commanded before she even attempted it. "Swept the floor while you were out."

"Not," he added, "that I don't suspect you intend to make me eat off the floor anyway, given your mood."

"It isn't my mood that's the problem. The poor man thinks you hate his guts, and after all he's done for us...."

"Bollocks," Severus muttered, pushed her down by the shoulders to sit -- on his cloak -- in front of the fire, and handed her his pocket-knife. "He'll get over it, even if he does."

Well, stranger things had happened. She'd got used to Severus, after all.

"When do you think they'll serve Fudge the writs?" she asked, sawing at the bread-loaf.

"No idea, but the sooner the better," Severus said as he charmed the cork out of the wine-bottle. "Glasses --? Oh, never mind," he added, and took a swig before allowing it to breath. "Next day or two, I should think. Provided they keep that bitch Snodgrass from flapping her mouth and tipping him off."

"Snodgrass? The recused one?"

"Right. Sat in the corner and scribbled through the first two sessions -- didn't you see her?" He plucked a slice of bread from her hand, and improvised a toasting-fork from the poker.

"Not really, no. I was a bit preoccupied," she said, and cut thick slices from the cheese-wedge.

"Hah. She disappeared after their cocoa-break. I assume that terror of a senior justice barred her from hearing your testimony."

Once the cheese was managed, Hermione bent to unlace her boots -- no sense risking singeing them before the generous fire Severus had built -- and the act reminded her of a question. "Oh, what was that business with the senior justice's boots?"

"Your friend Weasley nearly got us thrown out, is what it was --"

Severus launched into the tale of the senior justice's boot and smelly socks; and by the time he'd finished -- including a descriptive flourish with the poker, which nearly landed the bread in the fire -- Hermione was sniggering at the whole thing. (Severus wasn't a particularly good storyteller, but it was quite ridiculous enough a situation on its own.)

Boots shucked and safely stowed away from the fire, she lay flat on the floor, heedless of any muck that worked it way into her hair, still chortling.

"Glad you find it amusing," Severus said. "I'd have brained Weasley to shut him up, if necessary, and I didn't want to. Far too many witnesses."

"No you wouldn't. You'd have stepped on his toes even more," she retorted, and turned her head to watch his work.

"Caught that, did you?" he said, and and tried -- unsuccessfully -- to turn the bread on the poker without burning his fingers.

"Yes --"

He fumbled the bread, and the first slice went untoasted-side down on the floorboards. "Bloody hell -- you might have bothered to transfigure this for me."

"Pick it up, quick --"

"What?"

"Five second rule, it's still good!"

"I will not," he said, and deposited the ruined slice in the flames. "Disgusting. I suppose you got that habit from Potter and Weasley."

"No, they always went to ten seconds. Unless the item in question was something from Honeyduke's, in which case all time limits were null."

"I can just... imagine," he muttered, and reached for another slice of bread. "You'd best hope this one doesn't go the way of the first."

"Hang on," she said, trying very hard not to laugh at him -- as much for his bloody-minded insistence on dropping hints and his inability to ask for help, as for his reaction to the boys' grubby ways -- as she reached for her wand. "You might have done it yourself, you know. I walked back to the village to get the dinner -- churlish of you to expect me to transfigure everything for you, too."

"And then be twitted about getting Schell's property stuck? No thank you."

"Nonsense," she said as she changed it. "You're only shaping a form here, not altering material. You're perfectly capable of that."

Poker sorted into toasting-fork, Hermione lay back down, wiggled her toes -- really warm for the first time that day -- and let him concentrate on making the perfect piece of toast (in other words, to let him sulk in silence for a while).

And it was strange, too, that as little as two months ago she'd have been guarded and suspicious of him: constantly vigilant -- as Moody might say -- to avoid any overture, to strike back at him for even the most remotely nasty comment. It was almost alarming, actually, or might be if she were at all concerned any longer about keeping him at a distance: but she felt none of those things any longer.

Not that there still weren't plenty of things to be worried over, though.

"I'm serious -- what do we do now?" she asked him softly, and wriggled sideways to watch his face.

He stared into the fire, intent on the toast. "We wait. The bludger's out of our hands and on the ICW's end of the pitch -- not much we can do." He pulled the fork toward him, deftly turned the toast, and returned it to the fire.

"France if we can't return?"

"I suppose," he muttered. "I don't fancy America, frankly, and that's the only other option I can think of."

"What do you think out chances to go back home?"

"I've no bloody idea, Hermione -- ask Weasley, since he seems to know so much about politics."

"He was only saying that to get up your nose, you know, to get back for whatever you said to him over lunch -- well, saying that and hanging onto me so."

"Are you ready for yours?" Severus asked abruptly, ignoring her interpretation of what he must see as Ron's trespass on his territory.

"Huh?"

"Your toast. This is almost done."

"Oh, right. Yes."

She propped herself on her elbows, and watched as Severus gravely examined the toast, plucked it from the fork, and considerately put it on a clean handkerchief before handing it to her. (It was rather perfect toast. He had a knack with the old-fashioned method: she'd always managed to burn it to a crisp when she'd tried.)

"You might've got mustard to go with the meat," he sniped as she reached for a slice of cheese.

"Might've, but I didn't have enough money. You're lucky I decided on the meat in the first place rather than condoms."

It was a good thing he hadn't got to another slice of bread yet, for the fork clattered to the floor.

"I didn't think you'd appreciate them, precisely, but they were the only option available," she explained earnestly when he glared at her; she lay back down, and cuddled the toast on her belly to give the cheese time to melt just a bit. "Surprised when I saw those. It's a largely Catholic area. For the tourists, I suppose."

"I'm perfectly capable of controlling myself until... it's no longer necessary," he murmured, passed the wine-bottle over to her, and set to toasting his own bread.

It was a quiet evening other than that -- not that Hermione minded, given the tumult of the last week, and given that Severus hadn't anything to preoccupy himself with other than snarking at her. After a lazy postprandial doze she transfigured a bed-frame from raw wood, and bed-clothes from their extra clothes, while Severus cleaned up the dinner-leavings.

She gave him the small victory of dictating that the bed should be in the main room for the time being, near the fire: it was only sensible, after all, as there were no fireplaces above and it was damned cold, with the odd gust of freezing wind coming through the ancient joins of the house. (Someone had, in an excess of historic-restoration zeal, stripped the house back to its original, uninsulated and unplastered state. They'd ripped out the WC as well, and Hermione wasn't particularly thrilled at her first experience with a real privy -- but if this was as far as roughing it went, she'd do her best to be a good sport. If Severus didn't seem to mind and took it in stride, then so could she.)

He caved on his new No-Cold-Feet rule in short order. It was too bloody cold not to snuggle, even for him.

*****

Hiding out in the wilds of Liechtenstein was boring as hell, and Hermione sincerely wished she never had to do anything like it again.

They weren't required back at Gutenberg for another day, so the only disturbance was the arrival of a few pieces of good furniture (including a feather-mattress and tons of thick coverlets, bless Schell's heart), and Karl's introduction of the fat, little old witch from the Swiss side of the mountains who was to cook for them. (She took one look at the fireplace -- the only thing capable of heating the house, let alone serving as a cooking area -- sniffed disdainfully, and informed Hermione that she would be cooking each meal at home and popping over the mountain to serve it to them. It was just as well, as having someone else about would probably drive Severus mad.)

And then there was the owl.

It was McGonagall's personal owl: it should not, by rights, have been able to find them through the wards Severus had insisted she set to obscure them from most wizards' searching -- but it did. Once Hermione got her hands on the letter it carried (Severus had cursed on reading it, crumpled it, and thrown it at the fire and missed), she learned that McGonagall was not happy with Severus for neglecting to inform her that all was well; that no, the Weasley boy hadn't told her, precisely, he hadn't intended to, but he couldn't help but grin like an idiot when she'd asked; and that she was, nevertheless, sending on more biscuits, reading material, and clean underthings, despite Severus' bloody-minded inability to communicate with people who were worried about them, and he should count himself lucky that his headmistress was inclined toward generosity.

The post-script was the best part, though: that Severus should quit cursing and shut up immediately about her raiding his bureau for clean pants, because they weren't anything she hadn't seen before. Hermione wasn't certain if McGonagall meant that generally or specifically, but -- judging by the way Severus went purple-faced, and the disgraceful things he said about McGonagall -- she guessed that he assumed the latter. (She hoped "specifically" referred to the Infamous Pants Incident, at least. She didn't want to know under what other circumstances McGonagall might have seen Severus' pants)

However disgusted Severus was with McGonagall, it didn't stop him from eating half the biscuits at one go, or from selfishly commandeering all the reading material until he'd finished each bit.

*****

They were summoned to Gutenberg on the Saturday by Karl. (Clerking for a wizarding barrister must really be much like an old-fashioned apprenticeship: Karl seemed run off his feet constantly, and it wasn't even Schell's case any longer. It was a lucky thing Karl seemed a good-natured, outgoing type of fellow, Severus' slander of his cousin's cooking notwithstanding.)

The Prosecutor -- whom Severus absolutely loathed, and for whom he made no attempt to conceal his loathing, as he had with Schell -- briskly took them through a few of the more intricate problems of the case (for the third or fourth time), and then shut his brief and ordered them, "You I will on Monday morning have need."

"What time?" Hermione asked (quickly, to cover the grinding of Severus' teeth at the man's arrogant tone).

"Nine. All day you here will be."

"Fudge has been served, then?" Severus asked. "Is it a hearing or a full trial?"

The young ass stared down his nose at Severus (he was much taller, and had a nose at least as large), and stated, "You of that information have no need."

Hermione could practically see the steam coming from Severus' ears. "Mightn't it be better," she said in German, "to have us know what we're walking into? We know what to expect from a hearing now, but full trial procedure is totally unknown to us. We assume it's a very different system than the British one -- not that you would know of it."

The ass considered her point, and then -- ignoring Severus, and making no attempt to speak English for his benefit -- said, "I do know of it, actually. It's used as an example of a very poor system in our textbooks. Monday's proceeding will initially be a hearing, but the full Court will be standing by to prosecute directly, so as to avoid any attempt at flight."

"So Fudge will be represented by Defence, and we won't know if a full trial will proceed until later?"

"Yes, in a manner of speaking. Unfortunately for him, or fortunately for us, Minister Fudge has taken a quite short-sighted view and declined representation for the hearing. It's being prepared for him nonetheless in the event we go to full trial, but it isn't a particularly wise move. I am confident we will go ahead after the hearing."

Severus fidgeted, no doubt feeling peeved at being left out of the conversation, but Hermione ignored him for the time being.

"Surely he must realise how serious the charges are?"

"Apparently not. Or he feels his status will protect him. Either way, it's to our advantage -- I do not need to reveal the exact contents of your evidence until the hearing itself, so both he -- and, eventually, his Defence -- will be off-balance at its specificity."

"And the justices...?"

"The five that I believe heard your cases. A full trial will be heard by a panel of twelve. Needless to say, it could draw itself out for several days, and I shall need you here until the Defence and I call for a judgement."

"I see. Thank you."

The Prosecutor rose, collected his briefs, and left them with a very formal "Auf Wiedersehn."

"Right," Severus said through clenched teeth. "Do I rate a translation?"

"Yes, you.... Give me a moment to tell you, would you? Fudge has been charged, but he's declined representation for his hearing -- and while he knows the kinds of evidence that will be brought in, he doesn't know the specifics --"

"Arrogant sod."

"Says the.... Oh, never mind. If the justices rule against him -- the same five, by the way -- it'll go straight to a full trial, before a panel of twelve. He's got Defence working for him there, and it might take several days, so we'll have to plan on being here every day until they sum it all up."

"Blast."

"Oh, I don't know. Nice change from poor, poky little Schellenberg -- at least we can do some shopping afterwards."

"No, we can't. I didn't arrange for --"

"I did, while you were in the apothecary." (He'd used her last few francs buying the Liechtenstein equivalent of Tittifer's Tummy Tonic when they'd reached Gutenberg that morning: lucky thing the wizarding tradespeople took Muggle cash as well as their own.) "And I've already asked Karl where the wizard's bookshop is, so you needn't grumble about that. Don't get any ideas about going hog-wild and buying everything in the shop, though -- I'm not made of money. And the exchange rate's rotten."

"It would be," he said, and sneered.

"We've missed lunch -- d'you want to find someplace for tea? We could stop in Vaduz, there are more options there."

"No," he said, words clipped. "I'd just as soon get the bloody hell out of here and back to... the other place."

So they did.

*****

Severus continued to behave sullenly, refusing to speak at all on the way back to Schellenberg: and when they reached the little house he muttered something about needing air, and took off around the side of it before Hermione could persuade him (or his stomach, rather) that it was too close to dinner-time for a long stroll.

She trotted to the back room and watched through the window, squinting through the wavy, distorting glass, as Severus trudged up the path that wound its hair-pin way up the side of the mountain: she found her breath hitching each time he stumbled, until he finally stopped at a dead-fall tree and fashioned himself a staff to help support that blasted knee -- and then she cursed when he kept going further and further along the path until he disappeared around the side of the mountain.

She debated following him, and discarded the idea. He wanted solitude: apparently even she was too much to bear at the moment.

She did her best not to worry -- although when the cook arrived before Severus returned, she nearly put on her coat and went out to search for him: but he turned up (limping badly, and trembling from the cold or from suppressed pain) just as the old woman was ladling stew into their bowls. Whatever it was that had possessed him, he'd walked it off: he was silent (not unusual), and practically oozed misery and and a distinct air of resignation (very unusual).

He certainly wasn't ready to talk through dinner, but ate silently (she managed not to pester him), and excused himself early to go over -- for the third time -- one of the journals McGonagall had sent on. Hermione went directly to bed (upstairs, now, Severus having rather ingeniously rigged a temporary fireplace with Hermione's help) after the old witch had cleared away and left.

It was a very long time before Severus joined her.

*****

Of all the things Hermione might have expected, it wasn't what happened in their bed Friday night: and of the two astonishing things that occurred there, it was Severus' actions that surprised her most.

She could tell by his breathing that he wasn't anywhere near to falling asleep and was, in all likelihood, a million miles away in terms of his thoughts -- but she knew how she could get him to return to earth (or at least to this little corner of Liechtenstein). There was something to be said for a sexually-satisfied Severus, after all, other than letting him work off excess frustration. It certainly relaxed him. He often fell right asleep, or, conversely, let down his guard long enough for her to prise some kind of agreement or understanding from him.

Terribly manipulative of me, I suppose. Except that I don't want anything from him, only to... to make him feel better, if I can. Or at least less depressed.

He was used to her snuggling up against him by now: she suspected that he'd begun to welcome it, in fact (whether that was due to the cold or not), as he'd made no further attempts to put her off, verbally or otherwise. Judging by his reaction tonight, though, he wasn't used to her hand -- usually chastely resting on his ribcage, between them -- to wander further over, and then begin to creep lower.

She made it as far as his belly, and felt the muscles beneath the slight, inactive-wizard podge he'd acquired over the winter clench under her fingers; and then he fumbled for her hand and stilled her progress.

"What do you think you're doing?" he whispered, voice hoarse.

"I understand if you're not willing to talk about... whatever it is," she said. "If you're not, there's not much I can do to... to help you with it. But I might be able to help you feel better about something."

He thought that through for a moment, and then asked -- rather grimly, and still in that hoarse rasp -- "I've been a good boy and deserve a pat on the head, you mean."

"No, Severus, I.... Besides, I've been told by someone who should know that patting and poking a bloke's bits isn't the done thing. Wasn't what I had in mind."

"Hermione --"

"Yes, you've behaved well, within your own snarky parameters," she interrupted him, stumbling over the explanation. (How, after all, could she explain it adequately when she hadn't really thought it through, but only felt it?) "No, this isn't a reward. I just think it's time I started treating you properly, and it's all I can do since we can't --"

"You needn't," he said bluntly. "In fact, I'd prefer you didn't." And he drew her hand back up to the middle of his chest and held it there.

"I'm confused, then," she said, struggling to pull away from him, and wincing when he squeezed her fingers to keep her there. "I really don't know what you want from me, Severus. All I've heard for the past two months is how badly I'm treating you, how you want me to touch you -- how you'd like to try other things, if you meant all the bloody hints seriously --"

"Hermione --"

"-- and when I finally make peace with my own idiocy and I want to do something for you -- want to, Severus -- you shoot me down. Why is that?" she demanded, propped herself on one elbow, and yanked her hand away from him. "Because I don't have permission, because I took it on myself to make the first move? What have I done, in the last two weeks, that's upset you so badly? What have I done wrong?"

He lay there, staring at the ceiling, for a long time: and then he said, very quietly, "No, Hermione. You haven't done anything wrong. And --"

"What, then?"

"-- and.... It's not taking matters into your own hands... so to speak," he added wryly. "The gesture is appreciated."

"But clumsy. Off-puttingly so?"

"Merlin's balls, I don't think that's possible," he muttered, and fell silent again.

Then why won't you tell me what the bloody hell is wrong, you bastard? ...Oh, cripes. Maybe he's.... Well, I've heard that can start happening to middle-aged wizards.... Christ, there's no graceful way to ask that.

There was a way to check, of course: she tried to sneak her thigh toward his groin on the pretext of wriggling a bit closer, and had just enough time to discover that his penis had responded to her overture -- a bit. She'd certainly known him to proceed on less reaction than she currently felt.

"Stop," he commanded -- softly, and not entirely whole-heartedly, she thought -- but definitely; and he rolled to face her, pushing her thigh away, though he left his hand on it. "I've been thinking, is all, about what we should do afterwards. And I've.... In the best-case scenario, if we do go back home and the laws are changed, we shouldn't have to remain together."

"Are you telling me that --"

"I'm not telling you anything. I'm suggesting that we've been in a very highly-charged, stressful situation, and that it's natural that we should turn to each other -- that's as it should be, I suspect," he said, "and I'm not blaming you -- or myself -- for wanting to. But I'm also looking ahead to a time when things might go back to normalcy, and when you might regret feeling so... generous."

"Bollocks." (She certainly regretted it now, though. She hadn't expected to be rejected.)

"Do you remember discussing something like this?" he suggested. "The hormones, the stress --?"

"I'm not saying I want a baby, Severus. I wasn't aware I could get pregnant just by touching it -- are Slytherins that virile?"

"I know that you don't want.... ...Don't try to be witty. It's never attractive when Gryffindors attempt it, it comes across as merely shirty. The principle is the same. It's a long-term... commitment when one may not be required, and when it may not be what either of us wants."

She processed that for a moment, and then hazarded, "You wouldn't wish to continue?"

"Immaterial at this point. What is pertinent is that it wasn't part of the agreement. We didn't account for the fact that we might be clear of the bloody laws someday. So," he added slowly, "I think a re-negotiation is in order, at the very least, and now is not the time to do that, when we're preoccupied with where and how we'll live. While there's nothing in the agreement to preclude relations until we... re-define the situation, I'd rather not indulge until a decision is made."

She stared at him, trying very hard to let go of her anger and tension: and then she asked "Where, in all this mess, did you acquire this very un-Slytherin conscience? Because I'll admit it -- I didn't notice at all when it happened."

"It's not 'un-Slytherin'," he corrected her, and grimaced. "Although a case could be made that an inability to ignore it is. And if you ever repeat that, I shall have to press charges for Slander."

"I wouldn't. Nobody asks about that, anyway -- only whether the lot of you have forked penises."

"At any rate, I.... Good gods, is that old chestnut still about? And to whom have you blabbed?"

"It is, and I didn't tell Ron if that's what's worrying you. Not that he didn't ask, but I told him to sod off."

"Ah. Good. I should have had to kill him if you had."

"Severus --"

"House honour and Slytherin mystique, and all that."

"Severus.... Oh, for God's sake, you didn't take what he said that wrongly, did you?"

"What?"

"About keeping me safe, about his being right about you. As though it were all his idea in the first place. Because it wasn't."

"I never imagined that it was --"

"You went all prickly at that point."

"-- I wouldn't be so stupid as to give a Weasley that much credit. ...All right, I might give Arthur credit for enough guile for that -- or just possibly Fred and George -- but certainly not Ronald," he said, making it clear where he felt Ron fell on the Slytherin Scale of Guile. "No, I'm afraid I've always laid the credit for the idea squarely at your door. I knew you were perfectly capable of it."

"Thank you. I think."

"My point is, I don't... I can't feel confident that we'll make a rational choice then if we don't acknowledge that the necessity to decide exists now, and I don't feel... right, going on as we have while that's in the back of my mind. While I appreciate that you... want to make me feel better, the only thing that will accomplish that, frankly, is seeing us safely settled and certain that we want to continue together. After that, however, should we.... After that," he added with a brush of his thumb against her thigh, through her gown, his voice low, "I can assure you I wouldn't object."

Hermione didn't think she had ever heard anything quite that.... It wasn't arousing, exactly: or to put it more precisely, it wasn't in the least sexually arousing, just as the brush of his hand over her skin didn't turn her on, not in the way she thought it might if they'd done all this properly.

It was more of a mental stimulation -- that perhaps, just perhaps, Severus should want her for herself, above anyone else and without the bloody Ministry dictating that they should choose someone; that he might be willing to 're-negotiate', as he put it, a more natural and mutual relationship, and in spite of his vested interest in keeping her about for his own pleasure.

She respected him more than most men -- or had learned to, rather. She certainly respected him, particularly, far more than she had when they'd begun, despite -- or perhaps because of -- everything.

They worked together well, after all: their minds certainly meshed once they were able to get through the sticky business of learning each others' likely reactions and adjusting accordingly. (Or at least she was able to: he seemed less apt to make concessions for her than she for him, but there were precedents.)

And he was giving her a choice. For possibly the first time ever, he was laying the problem out fully and forthrightly (never mind that she'd had to drag it out of him), and he was acknowledging that she had a right to choose -- without argument, without bullying, and without any consequence -- whether to continue her life with or without him, of her own free will.

That was arousing.

"You realise," he said, and caressed her thigh again, "that this is possibly the first time in history a Slytherin has ever turned down such an attractive offer --"

"Oh, stuff it," she muttered. "This has nothing to do with Slytherin and Gryffindor, nothing at all. It never has, no matter that we've blamed the House whenever it suits us."

"Quite right. It has to do with you and me. Far more important than the House."

"Right," she said, and tried to sort through her feelings. "I ought to be very narked with you, you know. It wasn't easy to work myself up to that."

"I expect so."

"Very insulted."

"That you shouldn't be. I've demonstrated my appreciation for your charms quite comprehensively. Which should also tell you --"

"-- how strongly you feel about your point, yes. Given what a randy bugger you are, it certainly does."

"I am no more or less 'randy' than any other --"

"I'll take your word for it." She thought again for a moment, and then said, "Well, if you're willing to sacrifice your enjoyment for another week or two so I needn't feel stupid if we choose not to go on, the least I can do is stop acting like an insecure twit."

"Insecure, perhaps. Twittish, no."

"Thank you."

"Stubborn, infuriating, disobedient, certainly --"

"Stop while you're ahead and still in my good graces, will you?"

"Very well. You didn't let me get to the good bits, though."

"I wasn't aware I had any, as far as you're concerned."

"A few. Now you'll have to wait until I'm in the right frame of mind again to tell you," he said, and rolled back over on his back. "The bloody walk's knackered me."

Hermione suspected -- given how tight-lipped he was with compliments -- that it would probably be a very long time indeed before he was once again 'in the right frame of mind.' It couldn't be helped, though: she was still rather stunned by everything else he'd said, and probably shouldn't push her luck with him tonight. She had quite enough to think about as it was, anyway.

"Lie down, Hermione," Severus murmured. "You needn't stare. No Polyjuice involved. I'm not going to turn into anyone different to who I am."

She wasn't quite certain of that -- something kept niggling at the back of her brain, something very churlish and faintly prejudiced: but she dismissed it as more insecurity on her part, wriggled over and snuggled back close to his side anyway, and kept her hands to herself until she fell asleep.

*****

Chapter 25 Footnotes.

Link to Chapter 26