Thank you again for all the reviews! This is the last chapter of Love, Free as Air. I hope that you've enjoyed it.

Chapter Twenty-One—Shine and Stand

"I expected someone like this."

Harry tried not to feel irritated when Hermione reached out to take Severus's hand. He knew how smart she was, which was why he had wanted her to work this case in the first place. Wanting her to act as if she wasn't as smart now, wanting her to be surprised, was irrational.

Besides, Ron was surprised enough for the both of them.

When Harry came through the door of Number Twelve with Draco and Severus behind him, Ron had been sitting at the table paring an apple. He had put the fruit and the knife both down and prepared to look tolerant, or so Harry thought, from the brief glimpse he'd had of his face before Ron had spotted Severus. Then he had turned so red that he looked in danger of choking, clasped both hands in his lap, stared, and then whirled on Harry and pointed one finger.

"You said," he said, but the choking cut him off then, and he drummed one hand on the tabletop and glared at Harry.

"Don't mind my husband," Hermione said, exchanging the kind of glance with Severus that Harry had imagined she would exchange. It said they were both large-minded people of the world and knew how to ignore someone else's unfortunate faux pas. She took a larger sheaf of parchment out of her satchel. "He's just trying to deal with the fact that it seems we have two of Harry's lovers to meet today, rather than one. That's the case, isn't it?"

Harry got his gratification after all, given the way that Hermione's eyes darted up and then fell back. She wasn't sure, not completely. She might have foreseen someone like Severus, but not exactly Severus, and not his position in Harry's life.

"Yes, it is." Severus was the one who said it, and he looked half-surprised at himself. But he had had his chance to step back before they came here. Harry had asked if he was sure that he wanted Harry's friends to know they were lovers. He had faced prejudice in the past, but he had lived as he liked for six years, and it was asking a lot for him to put up with the anger of two Gryffindors he'd last known as students.

But Severus had said that he wanted it to be known, and locked his arm on Harry's shoulders in the next instant, as if he suspected that Harry would dash off to one of a thousand other possible lovers (who only existed in Severus's head) if he got a chance. Harry had leaned in and given him a kiss on the cheek, which had quieted him through sheer surprise.

"I see," Hermione said. She didn't show uneasiness or distaste, the way Harry had almost thought she might. She put her sheaf of papers down on the table; it seemed that she had lost something and needed a flat surface to find it.

"Snape?" Ron finally struck in. The piece of apple appeared to have gone down his throat, and now he was staring back and forth between them as if he thought that Draco and Severus would have agreed to play a joke on him. "I didn't—mate, when you left here, you didn't have even one lover, and now you have two? Both blokes?"

Harry turned to his best friend and smiled innocently. He loved Ron, but this was Harry's chance at revenge for all that nagging about how he should try dating a man, and there was no way he'd pass it up. "Well, yes. When I took your advice, didn't you think I'd take it literally and make the most of it?"

Ron shook his head, and kept on shaking it. Harry sniggered and turned to Hermione. "Do you think we'll be able to get Severus retried?" he asked. "His trial probably won't have as much documentation of problems as Mrs. Malfoy's, and it will rouse more opposition than Draco's did."

Hermione shook her head briskly. She had what looked like a folder in her hands, and she had flipped through it to reach a certain page. "Look at this," she said, finger stabbing the center of it before she held it out to him.

Harry took it, and then frowned. There was a photograph of an older man in the middle, but Harry didn't know him. The man had a thick, rusty brown beard, and he kept looking at the viewer, scowling, and trying to duck out of the frame. "Who is he?"

"Quintus Buskin," Hermione said in satisfaction. "He was on the Wizengamot at the time of the Death Eater trials, and he undertook to 'manage' the paperwork and the witnesses for most of them. He didn't do Lucius Malfoy's, oddly enough, perhaps because he thought there was enough evidence to convict him. Sorry, Malfoy," she added.

Harry could hear Draco's teeth grinding, but what Draco said aloud was, "My father made some extraordinarily poor choices. I know that, and I can live with the results."

"How gracious of you," Ron said.

Draco rolled his eyes. Harry reached out and put a hand on his arm to let him know that his tolerance was appreciated. Ron was still sensitive about what Lucius Malfoy had tried to do to Ginny, and Harry couldn't blame him.

"Anyway," Hermione said, "Buskin suborned witnesses for a number of trials, or at least the paperwork indicates that. He also whipped up hysteria against Death Eaters by writing a number of anonymous articles that appeared in the Prophet. Not all his activities were illegal, but enough that we can argue for a mistrial on any number of cases."

Her eyes were aglow. Harry smiled back at her. He would much rather that Hermione enjoy what she was doing—something he'd had to ask of her as a huge favor—after all, rather than resent the work involved.

"How can you tell that he wrote the articles if they're anonymous?" Draco demanded.

"His writing style is distinctive," Hermione said. "All I had to do was look at the records, and I saw the same phrases and exaggerated metaphors appearing." She snorted. "Whoever taught him to write essays should also have taught him to curb his excesses."

"I believe that he was in Slytherin, long ago," Severus said, voice uninterested. Harry thought that only he and Draco knew that tone hid a waste of pain and fury. "During a time in our history, if my estimate of his age is correct, when the Head of House was a cringing, apologetic man more interested in winning absolution for the supposed part of Slytherin House in Gellert Grindelwald's crimes than in teaching good writers."

Harry pressed back against Severus, and saw Ron watching them with wonder in his eyes. Harry looked challengingly at him, and Ron rolled his eyes and waved a hand in blessing, as much to say, Fine, I approve, but I think it's bloody weird.

"He was possibly trying to distance himself from what he saw as Slytherin House's crimes," Hermione said, but in the tone that Harry knew meant it was an observation, not an excuse. She was already rustling the papers again, looking satisfied. "I know that he wrote an article that claimed all the evidence left in Dumbledore's Pensieve about your heroism was a lie, sir. We should be able to show that it influenced public opinion enough that the Wizengamot has no choice but a retrial."

Severus relaxed for some reason. He'd been studying Hermione, Harry thought, and whatever he saw must have satisfied him at last. "Very well, Miss Granger," he said. "Or should it be Mrs. Granger-Weasley?"

Hermione had already drifted off into a realm of paperwork and was lost. Severus stepped forwards to consult with her. Draco called for Kreacher, and he appeared with a beam and a bow. Draco started to order food. Harry eased around him so that he could talk to Ron.

Ron poked him in the chest with one finger. "Was there a reason that you didn't mention this, mate?"

"I was under an Unbreakable Vow not to," Harry said simply. "Severus didn't trust that I wouldn't betray him at first."

"And now," Ron said, but didn't finish the sentence. He looked over at Severus instead. Harry looked with him, burning with deep contentment at the sight of Severus's head against the light from the kitchen window. Ron took a deep breath and valiantly tackled the sentence again. "And now, do you…he trusts you enough?"

"He does," Harry said. He leaned sideways against Draco, who with him had wrought this miracle. Draco stroked his hair. He was looking stunned, Harry saw. Well, he didn't think Draco had counted on the possibility of another trial for Severus becoming a reality.

Or one for his mother, either.

Harry took Draco's hand and squeezed. Draco clung on as if he needed the anchorage to avoid drowning.

"Hello, Mother."

His mother didn't reply for long moments. She had looked up when the door into the cell opened, but her face had the sort of patient expression that said she knew this was a trick. Draco didn't think her eyes had even rested on him before she was turning away.

Now she tensed. Draco waited, lingering by the door as much to give himself time to absorb the white streaks in her hair and the broken way her shoulders hunched as to give her time to absorb his presence.

"Draco?" she whispered at last. "Son?" Her voice struck nerves he didn't know he had and made choruses of guilt ring through his head. For the first time, Draco thought he could understand how Harry felt when he hurt someone else. He should have been here, he thought, by her side, not spending time in the cottage with Severus, or time in Grimmauld Place with Harry, or time in whatever house with both of them.

But he also knew that no concerns about his parents had delayed him when he freed Severus and they escaped together. He should have done something differently, perhaps, but he didn't think he could have freed his mother. He would have ended up in the cell beside her, suffering without being able to comfort her.

You have the possibility to free her now, Draco told himself fiercely as he knelt down in front of her and reached for her hands. Remember that.

"Yes, Mother," he said. "It's me." He hoped that his voice showed the love he felt thrumming through him, more than the guilt.

Narcissa lifted her head again. Draco's heart gave a painful thump. She had wrinkles around her mouth, which he had heard her say more than once she would rather die than suffer, and her hands trembled where she clung to him. But then she opened her arms, and Draco crawled into her embrace, and he discovered that some of her old strength remained.

"Are you here to join me?" she whispered.

Draco understood the source of some of her dread then. What must she think, if he suddenly appeared in her cell and the door shut behind him? She wouldn't think that he had the power to command the guard to open the door again at any moment and depart.

He wished he could leave with her at his side, drawing her up and out of the darkness and the dreariness here. But Granger was working on that. And Draco knew that his mother—at least his mother as he remembered her—would have forbidden him to ask for more than anyone could do right now and risk shattering this fragile, precious chance at freedom.

"No," he whispered back. "I'm free. Harry Potter was instrumental in granting me a retrial, and we're going to do the same for you."

She was once again still, and then she began to shake. Draco could feel the wetness on his neck. He pretended that he couldn't. He stroked her back and murmured the story of his retrial and return to the wizarding world to her in a voice so soft that she probably couldn't make out half the details even if she was listening.

"Your father?" she asked, when she was done and had drawn back to show him her tear-bright, shining blue eyes.

Draco shook his head. "The evidence against him was too damning," he said. His mother had raised a commanding eyebrow, and Draco knew that she required more information than that as to why Lucius couldn't be freed. "Granger doesn't want to try. She'll get you free if she can, and Severus. She can prove that there were errors in your trials. But the one who tried to condemn you refrained on Father's trial. I don't think we can…" He let his voice trail off in the face of his mother's determined expression.

"We will try," was all she said, and then she smiled at him and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad that you were never here, darling. There are some experiences that you don't need to have."

Draco stared hard into her face, trying to decide if this was a half-lie to make him feel better, but she was doing it well, if so. She looked at him with a calm expression. Draco sighed and shook his head.

"Will you be able to bear being here?" he asked. "Now that you know there's a hope, the time here might pass even more slowly." He didn't say what would happen if the retrial didn't come off. He had the odd feeling that even discussing that circumstance would lead to Granger losing her argument.

"You've offered me a chance for the nightmare to end," Narcissa said simply. "And if it doesn't, at least you'll come to visit me sometimes, and bring the light and breezes of a world outside with you."

She'd had the courage to talk about what he couldn't. A bit humbled, Draco kissed her cheek and left.

"Yes, I know that you don't like to consider that one of your members could have encouraged you to vote against your consciences." Granger's voice was piercing and clear, and no one in the room could pretend that they didn't hear her. She was, of course, Severus thought, offering them a way out, pretending to believe that they had voted against their inclinations only because of Buskin, and in return they would accept that proffered branch and vote differently this time.

Severus had not believed her at first, when she had asserted that they were jumpy after Draco's retrial and would snatch at any chance to make themselves look better, but he was beginning to believe it.

Some of the Wizengamot could hardly look at Granger. Nor could they study Harry, who stood beside Severus's chair in a glow of righteousness. Some of them focused on Draco, who was behind his mother, or Narcissa herself, a ghostly vision in the chair she'd been afforded. But there was no hatred in their faces, Severus thought. There was the terror of being found out, instead. Most of them must have suspected something wrong at the time, though it would have been political suicide to speak out.

And now Granger had whipped the papers and the public up into such a frenzy that it might be political suicide to resentence Narcissa. And even him.

Severus had woken that morning to find, on the front page of the Prophet, an interview with Harry and Granger where they both said that they knew and understood Severus's actions in the war. On a second page was another interview with Harry where he detailed the way that Narcissa had saved his life. On the third page, an anonymous article that Severus vaguely recognized the style of—it had to have been one of his students at Hogwarts, though he doubted it was Granger herself—asked indignantly when the Wizengamot had stopped being a stronghold of justice, and decided that it was the day Albus Dumbledore had died. On the fourth page was an article by Rita Skeeter in which she discussed the way Wizengamot members had Apparated away when they saw her coming.

It was all true, or at least no more misinformed than the usual opinions that the Prophet printed. But now the tide had turned and was flowing in Severus's direction.

He still felt dazed. He wasn't used to this.

Harry abruptly leaned an elbow on his shoulder, and Severus came out of his daze enough to listen to the words being whispered in his ear. "They're going to ask you to speak now," Harry warned. "We thought they might. You have to tell the truth, Severus, please, no matter how it hurts. That's the footing we fought to get this trial conducted on. Don't let—don't let pride stand in the way, please."

Severus gave him the most freezing stare he could muster. "If I was intent on doing that, would I be here?"

Harry gave him a fearless glance. Severus did not know whether to be pleased or irritated that Harry did not cower before him anymore. Perhaps he would be more pleased in another situation. "I know that you sometimes involuntarily let pride get in the way," he said. "I'm only asking that you not do that."

Severus barely had time to clear his expression of shock—he had not realized that Harry might know that was happening, and yet not blame him for it—before an arthritic voice from the Wizengamot asked him to stand and justify his plea.

It had been six years since Severus was on trial in any way. He had hidden away from judging eyes in the cottage, and only now did he realize how very easy that had been. He had thought it the harder choice, because of what would happen to him if he was recaptured, but no one had seemed interested in looking for him. Only Draco had cared if he lived or died. Yes, he had had it easier than he knew.

The tremors wanted to strike his body now as he stood there. What evidence did he have that would make them believe him, if they had rejected Albus's Pensieve the first time around?

He glanced sideways, and found Harry gazing at him with that same fearless look. Draco watched him with burning eyes. And Granger had turned around and extended her hand in invitation.

Their faith was his evidence.

Severus stepped forwards.

Harry had realized that it wasn't Severus's words that would convince the Wizengamot; it was his manner. They were already running frightened from Hermione's accusations, ready and willing to be persuaded, but with the residue of the prejudice that had led them to condemn Severus in the first place still in the back of their minds. A commanding enough way with words, a stern tone, a strict look, would keep them on track. But they could turn and stampede the other way again if the case wasn't convincing enough.

Luckily, Severus had never had any trouble with those mannerisms.

He started his speech by surveying the Wizengamot with a single quick, impersonal gaze. Harry marked the ones who trembled and shrank in their seats—the majority. For obvious reasons, Buskin hadn't been allowed to sit in on this retrial, and most of the people who remained seemed to be the easily led ones. Harry had never thought he would feel more confident because the government of the wizarding world essentially needed a sheepdog, but he could see the benefits now.

"I am a hero."

From the moment that Severus claimed the title, in a flat tone that dared them to disagree, there was never really any doubt. Harry watched, and admired, as he chased their feeble protests into a corner and murdered them. He reinterpreted the evidence in the Pensieve, showed the memories in a new light, and retold the story of how he had faced Voldemort and nearly died when Voldemort thought he was murdering the master of the Elder Wand. He used short, sparse sentences, but the war filled the chamber in a way that it couldn't have in years, Harry thought. The Wizengamot was looking faint when he finished. Some of them had actually fainted.

When Severus sat down again, Harry wished he could kiss him, in appreciation and thanks for letting him witness such an effective display. He settled for squeezing his shoulder instead. Severus didn't wince, but inclined his head regally.

Hermione swooped in after him, reminding the Wizengamot of the clear paper trail (well, clear to someone who was looking for it and had Hermione's eager eyes and questioning mind) that said the evidence had been manipulated in Mrs. Malfoy's trial to give her the worst showing possible. Harry was asked to tell the story of her saving his life again, and did so. He felt her eyes on his back while he did it.

Well, let her look. She might wonder why he was standing up for her; Harry had no idea whether Draco had told her that they were lovers yet. But Harry was going to fight for her, and fuck all the people who might have said he shouldn't.

He stepped back and sat down, and the Wizengamot rose to go out of the room and make their decision in private. Some of them glared at Hermione. She beamed back at them.

Draco leaned forwards. "You know that you've made enemies, right?" he whispered.

Hermione shrugged. In her eyes danced that light Harry knew so well, the light of courage and integrity—and sheer challenge. She would love having enemies who had opposed her on a matter that she thought should have been set right from the beginning, and would have been had anyone on the Wizengamot had a tenth of her intelligence and morals. "What does that matter? Everyone does. I'll fight them, and they'll fight me, but I'll guard my back better. And they'll take the trials more seriously, and not tamper with the evidence as much. They'll have to, in self-defense, or every Death Eater trial will eventually be appealed. I'm not worried about what I'll make them into."

Harry choked. He reckoned it was a good thing that Hermione had chosen Gryffindor and not Ravenclaw after all; he could envision her becoming drunk on power if she thought the whole thing was just an academic exercise, instead of dealing with real people's lives.

And a Hermione drunk on power could probably take over the wizarding world.

When the Wizengamot came back into the room, Draco didn't know how to read their faces. He knew Granger did, but he couldn't look at her for reassurance, or even down at his mother to try and give her support. His eyes were chained to the Wizengamot members by some strange power of attraction. He held his breath.

The leader rose to her feet and cleared her throat. "Yes, well," she said. "We find that the trials of both Narcissa Malfoy and Severus Snape had problems included in the evidence. They are now free to go, unless they again do something criminal or illegal." She gave Severus a dark stare that said he had better not follow any more Dark Lords.

Draco didn't care. He turned and embraced his mother, who had managed to stand up from her chair but then had fallen forwards. Draco didn't care. He whirled in the center of the room with her, and laughed, and didn't care who watched them and turned aside with a lip curled up in disgust or scorn.

Then Harry crashed into him, and Severus, and they were all three—four, if one counted his mother in the center—whirling in a celebratory tangle of limbs, while Granger conducted her own private war dance around them.

In the excitement of the moment, it was only natural that Draco should kiss Severus, and Harry should lean over and kiss both of them.

Skeeter was in the courtroom, of course. A flash of a camera, and the next day's Prophet front page carried a story that knocked the news of the retrials to a back page.

At the moment, Draco couldn't care, didn't care, was carefree at last. He wouldn't care much more later, either. He put one arm out to Harry, who, hanging on to Severus, took it, and held the other out to his mother to escort her.

It was time to go and see the world they had conquered.

The End.