Champions

The trial of Severus Snape

The Trial of Severus Snape

In the two weeks that followed, life settled into some semblance of normalcy for Fleur and Harry. Having been verbally eviscerated by Sebastian, Dumbledore didn't dare approach them, which was quite a relief for both. Fawkes remained in their company, and even attended school with one or the other, depending on the day.

The latter drew a large amount of attention and speculation, but they ignored it.

Harry continued to stay in the Beauxbatons carriage, and that gave them the opportunity to further explore their relationship with each other. It was slow going – Harry was exceptionally shy in spite of the front he maintained most of the time – and Fleur privately felt that she would not know a fraction of what she did about him if not for her father's investigation. Her knowledge of his past had given her a lever to use in prying into his inner self.

Fleur enjoyed that time, and was looking forward to the summer more and more. Chateau Delacour was positioned outside an idyllic little town, and she relished the idea of spending time with Harry in that quaint little world. It was a peaceful place, and if there was one thing that Harry needed, it was peace and quiet.

His life was a madhouse!

And that was demonstrated clearly by their current situation. April second had rolled around, and it was time for the trial of Severus Snape. To their chagrin, they found that their arrival at the Ministry building was anticipated, and the next thirty minutes were spent dodging reporters and trying to get to where they needed to be. She still wasn't sure how they managed to avoid answering questions.

Harry made his way to the witness waiting room, and Fleur had taken a seat in the spectator gallery. The courtroom itself was like something out of a medieval story: an enormous stone room, lit with guttering torches; a long, imposing raised section where the judges sat; a huge throne-like stone chair with chains embedded to restrain the accused; and, incongruously, a wood-paneled witness box that looked like something from a Muggle television show.

Some old crone was presiding over the trial, as Madam Bones had recused herself to prosecute. And to her shock when he entered the courtroom, Dumbledore himself was defending. She had to wonder if the man had lost his mind: tying himself to Snape's fate would only gain him derision and loathing when the man was convicted.

And convicted he would be, if the witnesses so far were any indication.

They were using an enormous Pensieve to project the memories to the court and spectators, and so far the evidence was damning. Even Fleur, who knew the story, was absolutely outraged. To see children treated in such a way was appalling.

Memory after memory of insults, abuse, and injury were shown. The man treated children like they were dirt on his shoes, and regularly frightened them into failing their lessons. How could one learn like that? And worse, when a child was injured, often he would ignore them or just berate them further unless they were wearing green and silver.

How the man had been allowed to continue teaching was anyone's guess.

And Dumbledore? Dumbledore watched impassively. It was as though he was impervious to the man's crimes, and he did his best to tease out causation from the victims, as though they had somehow antagonized the man. As though anything they might have done could have justified it.

Madam Bones, livid as she was, kept a cool head and presented her case methodically, repeatedly objecting to Dumbledore's questioning of the students as though they were on trial themselves. They could not stop the answers from coming because of the Veritaserum, but fortunately, he had yet to find anything substantive. Still he tried to pin the blame on the students rather than the teacher, and it was hard to listen to.