Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They are written as part of a tribute to JK Rowling's Harry Potter novels, and all characters, spells, locations and plot are either from those novels, or directly inspired by those novels.

A/N Hi, all. I've been writing fanfiction for a fair chunk of my life (under a different penname, writing mostly in anime and BBC stuff), but I've not written any since 06, so forgive me if I'm a little slow returning to the formulas of fanfiction. I've also never published any HGSS stuff, even though it's my all-time favourite pairing.

This fic is as canonical as is possible for a fanfiction that refuses to accept the death of a major character. I've ignored that damnable epilogue, obviously, and I've tried my level best to keep Rowling's wonderful characters in-character. This, interestingly, is hardest to achieve with Harry Potter, but not so difficult with my two main characters, Snape and Hermione. I hope you enjoy, please R&R.

"Mister Snape. Today we have established your role as a double agent for The Order Of The Phoenix, your genesis as a Death Eater, and your movements in the final battle against the fallen dark wizard Tom Riddle."

Severus Snape stared coolly up at the shrewd, serious face of Tiberius Ogden- the diminutive Chief Warlock of Wizengamot- and graced the elder with his most potent sneer. Ogden regarded Snape over steepled fingers.

"Now, we come to the pivotal moments during the battle for Hogwarts. We have received some very… reliable testimony on your movements that day." Snape saw Ogden's eyes fly over Snape's shoulder. He knew who sat there, and he refused to crane his neck to see them. Any of them.

"The source claims that you were seen fleeing the school before the beginning of the battle by a rather arcane and unusual method. Can you confirm these claims?"

Snape clenched his teeth. Bloody Potter.

"Yes."

"So you will admit to flying from the castle without broom or Thestral? Nor any form of enchanted object? "

"Yes."

The small, sharp face of a witch leaned into the light near Ogden,

"The only other wizard that I know of who could fly unsupported was You-Know-Who."

"Mafalda," interrupted a rich, dark voice from high in the middle of the auditorium court, "May I remind you that in these trials, we refer to that wizard as Lord Voldemort or Tom Riddle. Fear of the name-"

"'Only increases fear of the thing itself,'" parroted the witch, "Yes, Minister Shacklebot. My apologies. Even so-"

"Magic, Madame," Interrupted Snape, his voice seeping over the assembled masses, "Is never evil in nature. Though magic may be used for evil deeds, it is a neutral force; available to all those who have the ability to use it, and the will to take it. To mold it."

Snape could feel the eyes of the sharp-faced witch boring into him, but she did not speak.

Hopkirk, thought Snape, idiot woman. It seems the only prerequisite for a promotion in the Ministry these days is "Is Not Evil".

"If we may," sighed Tiberius Ogden, removing his glasses to rub his eyes with the heels of his palms, "I would like to return to the events of the night of the Battle for Hogwarts."

Ogden replaced his glasses and picked up a thick sheath of parchment.

"I have here three accounts of your position in the final battle. All three of these accounts, written only days after the battle was won, contain startlingly precise details. And all three proclaim that you, Severus Snape, were attacked on the orders of Lord Voldemort by his snake, Nagini. Are these statements correct?"

"Yes." The still open bites on Snape's neck were tingling. They would bleed tonight, that much was certain.

"And the reports go further to say that you were seen to have bled on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. Until dead. One report even claims to have witnessed the life leaving your eyes."

Snape merely raised an eyebrow to Ogden. His high collar felt damp. Snape hoped the court would recess soon, so he could patch his wounds.

"Mister Snape, we do not take the reports of one Harry Potter lightly. Not anymore. And until you… emerged from the Forbidden Forest a month ago, Harry Potter believed you to have died in Hogsmeade."

Snape's toes curled in anger- the only sign of frustration he would allow himself.

Bloody Potter!

"The question on the collective mind of the wizarding community is this, Severus Snape: how did you survive to be standing trial today?"

Snape had considered the question before, he truly had. But as he looked around himself at the courtroom that had been set up in the Hogwarts Great Hall after the Ministry was deemed insecure, as he regarded the heroes, victims, and witnesses of the war who waited with baited breath to condemn or to laud him, he found the answer to Tiberius Ogden's question more elusive than ever. With a quiet sigh, he supposed he would never know. He had not even been allowed up to the see his old mentor and master's portrait to ask the old man what he thought.

"Mister Snape?"

Frustrated, overwrought, tired from two previous days of trial, Snape finally snapped.

"Mister Ogden, the court's constant supposition that I came to be here by way of some dark, arcane magic taught to me by my former master is ridiculous, and insulting, and it speaks poorly for your collective intelligence," Snape's eyes seared a path from the cluster of Wizengamot to the group of Aurors that made up the trial's panel, "As you well know, there is no such magic. Nothing can return a person from the dead if they were ever truly so. I lament the future of a trial whose jury insists on jumping at shadows, and who cannot discern the difference between valid accusations and malicious, press-driven rumour."

Through his trial, Snape had barely said two words together as the charges against him were lain out and refuted by various witnesses to his work as a double agent and his character. The silence that met this first, long-suppressed outburst was deafening.

First, thought Snape wryly, and last. I shall not give them the satisfaction of my frustration again.

Tiberius Ogden was looking down on Snape in the centre of the hall with a curiously kindly look on his face reminiscent of Ogden's late friend Dumbledore. He suppressed a groan. That was all he needed: Another Albus Dumbledore!

"Perhaps we should call a recess, eh Minister?" Ogden turned in his seat and addressed the dark man in burnt orange robes observing the trial from the back row.

"Yes, Tiberius, I would say a recess is long overdue," He raised his voice above the quiet chatter that had started amongst the magical audience, "The Wizengamot War Court will take a short recess of one hour. Tea will be served in the Antechamber."

Severus Snape slumped indiscernibly in his seat, his hand itching to reach up and stem the treacley trickle of blood drying against his collar.

Just wait, he thought, breathing through his noise, don't move until everyone has left.

Slowly, but surely, the Great Hall emptied. The trials were not open to the general public, so Snape thought it odd how many people had been deemed important enough to the war effort to view this particular tribunal.

Snape stood when he deemed the hall empty and rolled his neck, which was when he caught sight of a single figure occupying the front row right behind Snape's chair. Snape spun to face the figure.

Potter. Bloody Potter!

Snape fixed the Boy Who Lived with a crippling sneer and swept past him to the exit.

"Sir!"

Snape hesitated with his hand poised to push open the great oak doors.

"Sir?" If Snape didn't know any better, he'd say Potter had actually lost some of his irritating, brash self-confidence since the battle. Snape planned to ponder the reasons later, when he didn't have the more pressing issue of a trial on his hands.

"Sir, you don't have to say anything. You don't even have to look at me…"

Snape turned to face Potter, folding his arms over his chest and fixing him with his most intimidating stare. Potter drew a breath and straightened his back,

"Sir, don't just walk out, but… I'd like to give you some advice."

Snape nearly choked on his indignant rage,

"Advice, Potter? Surely you must be joking." Snape placed two hands on the railing that separated Potter from him and narrowed his eyes, "I do not take kindly to jokes at my expense, Potter, I'd thought even you could have learned that by now."

"Sir," Potter barreled forward, looking at Snape's left ear, "You must understand that your resistance in this trial only makes you less sympathetic to the public."

Snape leaned back to take in Potter's face. Potter's eyes hesitantly slid across to meet his, and Snape was startled to see honesty there, and no conniving, ulterior motives,

"I do not care what the public think of me, Potter; they are not the ones who will be deciding what punishment I am to receive."

"But that's the thing! The Wizengamot may be interested in serving out fair justice, but you know the ministry will act according to Vox Pop. They're not very popular with the masses at the moment. And right now, the masses still regard you as some…" Potter hesitated and cleared his throat, and Snape forced his rising eyebrow down. Potter was being very odd.

"As some greasy, overgrown bat, who never leaves the belfry, and is and always has been inherently evil."

Snape was relieved to see that Potter had to smother a smirk at that- some things, it seemed, remained intact: Potter's deeply ingrained dislike of him, for one.

"What is your point, Potter?"

Potter grimaced,

"My point is, sir, that all through this trial you've been acting like you're back in the potions classroom and the jurors are a bunch of idiot students! That was fine when all the facts about your spying were being laid out, the truth was on your side! But now questions of your character and your judgment and your honesy are being raised, and you need the wizarding community to trust you now, more than ever!" Potter drew a deep breath to calm himself and sat back down on the wooden bench.

"Later today I'm fairly certain we- me, Ron and Hermione, that is- will be called up to give the court our testimony on your… er, death. I'll make sure to emphasise the… the, you know, the memories, but you're probably going to have to stop blocking Ogden and insulting Hopkirk and actually answer the questions they're answering. I know the tribunal vows don't allow you much wriggle room for deceit, but just evading the questions is no better."

Snape regarded the stiff, uncomfortable young man for a long time; this wasn't like Potter. Potter hated him, and Potter had never, in the 7 years Snape had known him, displayed this level of awareness regarding wizarding society. Normally he was dismissive and irreverent of the rules that held this society together. Nor, in aforementioned period of time, had Potter ever displayed a jot of concern about Snape's future. No, there was something else happening here,

"Where are your two lapdogs, Potter?"

If he didn't have the reflexes of a panther, Snape mightn't have caught Potter's eyes flashing to the far wall of the Great Hall for a moment. Snape made a mental note of it.

"Oh, they're… around."

Snape dragged a hand over his face.

"Why are you doing this, Potter? Feeling guilty?"

"Yes," admitted Harry with a shrug, "that's part of it. There's also the fact that I owe you a significant life debt. Don't think I've forgotten what you did for me. What you did for all of us. Did you know, if you hadn't given me … those memories, I'd have never defeated Tom Riddle?"

Harry looked at Severus Snape standing tall and proud and pale in front of him and tried to keep his eyes from glittering,

"I'm glad," he whispered, "that you lived to se that it wasn't in vain. What you did for me."

"For you?" Snape hissed. "It was never for you. Never."

He turned and swept to the exit.

"Sir! Just... consider what I'm saying?"

Snape growled and stormed out of the oak doors into the antechamber.

Harry slumped on the bench.

"That dramatic exit'll make a great impression on the general public, eh, Hermione? Really show them he's no longer the grumpy potions master who terrified them all at school?"

A very bushy-haired witch in plain black robes winked into sight and walked over to Harry's bench,

"I admit, it doesn't bode well for his ability to garner sympathy from the general public" sighed Hermione, plonking herself down next to Harry and resting her chin on a hand.

"But, Harry! He heard you out, didn't he? I thought he'd yell at you and leave ages before that! I told you I knew how to pique his interest!"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Thanks, Hermione, I'm glad you have confidence in my abilities. Come on, let's see if the house elves still like to throw food at me."

Ignoring Hermione's SPEW-related protests and laughing uproariously, Harry dragged her out of the Great Hall, and neither of them noticed the imposing figure standing just outside the doors with one long eyebrow raised, watching their retreating backs.

"Granger." He muttered, thoughtfully.

A/N Hope you're liking it thus far. Another chapter will go up pretty soon, because I don't believe in keeping people waiting.

Please review and tell me what you think. I know this isn't exactly heavy on HGSS action right now, but I don't really do PWP, and the backstory is mammoth, considering I had to proverbially raise a character from the dead. This fic won't just be about the trial, of course, so don't assume it'll be over in the next two chapters...

Thanks for reading,

S.O