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 Oh man, I'm sorry to the 10 or so watchers I have, I really am. There's so much ground to cover in this fic that it took me much longer than anticipated. I mean much much longer. Don't worry, though, I'll have the next chapter up in a jiff, since it's swirling around in my head as we speak and I absolutely have to get it down before I explode.

I also want all you readers to know that there is one fic I endeavour constantly to emulate; one fic I am everyday inspired by. It's called My Immortal and I can only hope that one day I will be able to write Snape as flawlessly in character as Tara Gilesbie did. I just can't seem to get the voyeuristic gay rapist side of him down, you know? I salute you, Ebony. I mean Tara.

Enjoy!

Severus Snape carefully unbuttoned the top of his high collared robes to reveal a blood-soaked bandage. Hissing, he peeled back the sopping gauze and threw it into the sink of the out-of-order first floor bathroom.

Severus let his head drop, his hands braced on the sink's edges, and he watched the blood fall slowly in thick, dark drops onto the marble surface, and he contemplated his state.

The bites were cursed, he knew that much. Impervious to magical healing, Severus had been forced to treat the wounds via basic muggle methods: tight bandages and antibacterial lotions. He could have gone to St. Mungo's, but he knew it would be for naught, and at the heavy cost of his pride. No, there was nothing those healers could do for him that he wasn't more than capable of achieving himself.

"Evanesco." muttered Severus, vanishing the sopping bandages in the sink. He daubed at the patch of mangled flesh under his throat and considered his own face in the mirror.

Pale, of course. An ashy complexion was to be expected when one suffered from continuous blood loss; Gaunt, from too little food in this past wild month; Drawn eyebrows over dark eyes.

Yes, Thought Severus, his thin lips twisting into a smirk, certainly as menacing as ever.

The thought took his mind back to the Great Hall and Potter's – Severus sneered- advice. Not that it was Potter's initiative, by the sounds of things.

Granger, thought Severus for the second time in an infuriatingly short number of minutes.

He conjured a bandage and pulled from his voluminous robes a bottle of antibacterial gel. He was redressing his wound when his outstanding hearing picked up shuffling from the door of the womens' bathroom he had commandeered, confident that no one ventured to this particular first-floor corridor these days.

"Professor?"

Severus raised his head infinitesimally to peer in the mirror. Standing behind him, looking pale as the new day, was Hermione Granger.

Hermione practically skipped up the stairs from the entrance hall. The memories from Hogwarts were strong and sad, but the joy of being back, back in the place where she'd been happiest outweighed the memories of the carnage that had befallen the beloved castle. She stopped to run her hands over the pockmarked banisters, lost in reminiscence.

Even with the assistance of magic, it would take months to repair the damage to the structure of the castle itself, and even longer to rebuild the charms and ancient magic woven into the masonry over centuries. Even after the weeks of work thus far, the professors and a group of able volunteers- Hermione included- could not recreate the way the castle had been before.

It was, Hermione found, the unpredictable staircases that proved the most trouble. In the past, the staircases would move during the course of the day- sometimes whilst you were ascending- and leave you to navigate from where you ended up to where you had to be. A charming quirk of Hogwarts' magic, and never a particularly malign annoyance.

Since the battle, however, the staircases had formed within themselves a series of inexplicable magical portals- a student would step onto a staircase in the east wing and find themselves suddenly descending into the dungeons without notice, and suddenly what used to be a charming quirk was now a significant annoyance and a massive waste of time.

Something would have to be done about the state of the magic in Hogwarts soon. Hermione made a mental note to start on researching that when this trial was over.

With the knowledge of the staircases' flaws, Hermione stepped cautiously onto one and prayed it would take her to a quiet bathroom. The entrance hall bathrooms were suffering an onslaught from the unusually high number of witches and wizards using them, and she suspected the plumbing would begin to protest, magical or not.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as she stepped off the staircase and felt her stomach flip as her foot fell in a damp, mossy corridor on the first floor. It seemed the staircase had bypassed the tapestry corridor and landed Hermione right outside Moaning Myrtle's first-floor bathroom. She smiled at the memories of this particular corridor.
"Myrtle?" she called softly around the corner of the only door in the corridor. Receiving no reply, Hermione edged into the great stone bathroom, whereupon she encountered a shock that might have- had she seen it in her first year- killed her.

Severus Snape, dripping blood, bent over a sink, where lay a pile of bloody –muggle- bandages. Muggle antiseptic cream. New, white muggle gauze.
Hermione's jaw dropped- there was blood literally everywhere. It stained the off-white sink Snape bent over, the grout in the stone tiles under her feet, the mirror Snape was in front of. Hermione hesitated for the slightest of moments, then stepped forward.

"Professor?"

He barely glanced up, noted Hermione, although his neck was stiff and his hackles raised. Snape took the time to set down his equipment before acknowledging her at all.

"Miss Granger," Said Snape, straightening his back and appraising Hermione in the reflection of the mirror. If he was shocked, or ashamed, or affronted, he didn't show it. His face was a blank wall of irritation and disdain.

"Well, girl, are you just going to stand there?"

Severus cursed himself- his neck was exposed. By the time he had noticed the girl's presence, he was sure she had already seen the bites, and he would not stoop to covering them up now, like an embarrassed maiden. He lifted his chin and turned to face Granger.

Hermione had guessed there would be some magical impact from sustaining such a serious wound and surviving but she had never imagined…

Still? Thought Hermione, They still bleed, after all this time.

Severus Snape's neck was a world of contrast; half clean, pale, a long length of sinewy muscle now bulging- as in days of yore- with irritation. On the other side his neck was an atrocity.

The snake had not merely bitten Severus Snape- it had mauled him. Hermione supposed she oughtn't be so surprised. She had, after all, witnessed the attack herself, and in the weeks since she'd seen it happen, it hadn't faded from her mind. Hermione had replayed the memory of his attack literally ad nauseum; had woken, stomach heaving, from visions of it interlaced with other painful memories that caused her own not inconsiderable scars to tingle. But her war wounds were nothing to Snape's:

Two knut-sized holes marked where the serpent had struck first and these holes were steadily leaking tar-like blood. They appeared to run deep into his flesh, and movement on Snape's neck caused something to glisten within the wound- exposed muscle.

At this, Hermione almost turned and fled the room, but she simply flicked her gaze upwards into Snape's dark eyes for a moment. She found them proud and defiant. And absolutely livid.

She let her eyes trail back down: Surrounding the initial snakebites, Snape's flesh was a pitted and torn. Large and small hunks were missing from his neck and his wounds reached below his open collar, where blood pooled in his collarbone. It was as if someone had grabbed at his jaw and neck haphazardly and pulled away pieces of flesh with their fingernails, leaving very little area un-damaged.
Hermione took in the sight of his injuries with an indecent eagerness. She knew she was being rude, but the long weeks of speculating about his improbable survival had left her starved for more information, for more evidence that she had not imagined his death. Hermione concluded that she was the first to see his wounds since the day of the battle, and yet still she found herself no closer to unraveling the mystery. All she found was the strange sight of Severus Snape standing- straight back, open chest and proud- with half of his neck shredded to pieces and still leaking dark blood as if he had sustained the bites mere hours ago.

Snape's hair (much longer now than it had been when she had last been this close to him) had fallen into the gluey, undrying blood under his jaw and was stuck there- tangled in thick, sticky ropes. The sight of this- his fine, dark hair caught helplessly- caused Hermione's chest to constrict painfully.

It was tragic. The whole situation was a tragedy to Hermione; Damaged beyond belief and forced to stand trial for it!

In retrospect, Hermione acknowledged that pity had been the wrong emotion to allow across her face.

She saw the expression of hatred that crossed his features, she knew that expression, and it even set of alarm bells in all her nerve endings as if she anticipated getting detention, but years of coddling and sleuthing and nagging overwhelmed years of avoiding Snape's wrath. She held his brutal expression and drew a breath,

"Isn't there something that can be done for the bleeding?"

Severus was thrown. He threw the Granger child a disdainful look and turned back to the sink, letting his hair fall over his neck and face, but he kept his eyes on her.

"Miss Granger," he snapped, "if there is no sufficient excuse you can find to further encroach on my time, I'd ask that you leave me be."

"Well, sir, we are currently in the womens' bathroom. I… came up here to use it."

"Yes, a woman's bathroom; precisely why I am so offended to find you in here. Now go."

He pointedly dropped his eyes and daubed at the blood on his neck, ignoring her.

With a frustrated sigh, Hermione took a step forward.

"Sir, I'm sure you've already tried every magical method-"

"How astute, Granger."

"-But bandages aren't the only way muggles treat constant bleeding. They have a word for that... what's happening to your neck, you know. Haemophilia."

"Yes, Miss Granger, I am aware of basic Muggle biology, since we are, as you should know, of the same species." Snape replied abruptly.

"Of course you know about haemophilia, sir. But have you thought of using the Muggle theories and treatments-"

"Will you shut up, Granger!"

There was silence, and Snape didn't seem to care unduly about her presence if she was quiet about it.
Hermione advanced incrementally until she was close behind Snape at the mirror, trying to get a better look at his wounds. If she could only do a little poking about-

"Miss Granger, so help me, take one more step and I will find myself on trial for a real murder."

He hadn't even looked up!

"But sir, you can't simply let the wound bleed out for the rest of your life. It's not good for you!" Hermione's voice was softer now. She reasoned that the common theory for talking to dragons and hippogriffs and grizzly bears would apply to Severus Snapes.

Hermione leaned forward minutely... nearly...there...

Snape's fist curled around the bottle of disinfectant and it shattered, shards piercing his palms. Hermione jumped back, hands at her mouth, eyes wide with terror.

"Who are you, Miss Granger, to tell me what is good for me?" He hissed, his voice satiated with rage. He was looming over Hermione, nostrils flaring as he took deep, whistling breaths, "Do you think me some charity case, to placate your conscience? Do you feel guilt, Miss Granger, is that it? Do you have the need to atone by irritating every living being around you?" Snape advanced on Hermione as she backed away.

"Do you think that your guilt will be assuaged by pitying me?" Snape hurled the fragments of glass at Hermione's feet, splattering her robes with dark blood, "I will not be pitied. I will not allow you to coddle me, and for the LAST TIME, Miss Granger, I will not be subject to the inanity of your presence any longer!"

He stood, chest heaving, pinning Hermione to the spot with his furious gaze. She suddenly felt as if she had not grown at all- as if she was still a silly little Hogwarts girl, sentences to two weeks detentions, decanting frog spawn, cleaning out bed pans. She couldn't move, although all her instincts were screaming to run from this room, from this killer, from this terrifying man.

When Snape saw no signs of life, he turned her bodily and shoved her from the first floor bathroom.

"LEAVE." He roared after her.

Hermione stumbled and sprinted out into the corridor, stopping to lean against the banister of the first staircase she encountered.

Oh God, She thought, raising her palms to her eyes. No matter how hard she squeezed them, the sight of a pale Severus Snape, dripping blood, fury in his eyes as she'd never seen before, towering over her still flickered behind her eyelids. She dragged her hands over her face and stared, unseeing into a portrait of Flamel, considering what Snape had said.

It's true, she thought, biting her lip, I feel guilty- for the animosity toward him while we were at school? No, he deserved that. For… abandoning him so swiftly when we thought he was dead, perhaps.

For everyone else who is dead.

Groaning out loud she sank to the top step of the staircase and rested her chin on her hand.

"Awful, hateful man!" Had he always been so cruel? Hermione thought so, and yet there, again, was the urge to help him. She snorted. He didn't want help. Not from her, not from anyone.
Hermione stood up, brushing down her robes. She started down the stairs, hoping it would take her back to the vicinity of the Great Hall before the trial reconvened.

I wonder…? Hermione glanced back, but there was no sign of Snape. She fervently hoped he wouldn't be late back because of his anger at her. Hermione didn't need him to hate her any more than he already did.

Snape leaned against the doorframe of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, chest heaving, and blood dripping to the floor at an alarming speed, thanks to his highly elevated heartbeat.
Thanks to Granger.

Severus kicked aside the shards of glass as he returned to the vanity to redress his bites. So he wouldn't have antiseptic. No matter, Severus was certain this damned trial would not last much longer before he was condemned to Azkaban or, a lighter sentence: exiled from England to prevent him from reconnecting with deatheaters and engineering a resurgance. He was certain he could purchase some more antiseptic when he was convicted.

Severus buttoned his collar and started from the room, pausing to scourgify the stone tiles and vanish the glass. Wouldn't do to leave any evidence of his… fit of temper. The shards made a noise disconcertingly like a nail through the flesh of an apple as they parted from his palm.

Severus swept down the staircase, feeling his stomach lurch as the enchanted stairway changed direction. He gripped the banister and sighed.

Yes, his fit of temper. It was justified, of course. She was as insufferable as ever. For a moment, when she had been astute enough to identify the methods of this war court, its basis in popular opinion, its ignorance of justice…
But no, he could see now that Granger was simply an intelligent child, a child who thought herself an adult capable of helping him, Severus Snape.

He stepped off the staircase, which had deposited him in a broom cupboard outside the Entrance Hall. Ridiculous staircases!

It was a laughable concept, of course, Hermione Granger trying to offer him assistance. And through Potter! How very imbecilic of her. Perhaps Granger was too faint-hearted to confront him herself? That seemed unlikely. While Granger was the most rational of the golden trio, she had still been allotted a generous helping of foolhardiness.

In any case, she was fooling herself. Severus was beyond all help.
Oh, the idea had been intelligent enough: fool the public into empathising with him; force them to view him in a softer light, the light of an unacknowledged hero. Once the public saw him as such, it would be impossible for the Wizengamot and the Ministry to condemn and prosecute him, respectively. There would be a public outcry resulting in terrible press for the Ministry, which was precisely what the Ministry was trying to avoid. These very trials were merely an attempt to appease the public, and Granger knew that when she sent Potter to tell him to act softer. Severus smirked. This political manipulation she'd devised showed a level of cunning unheard of for a Gryffindor. No doubt she would be horrified to discover how very Slytherin the idea was.

Severus sighed as he swept past the milling crowds in the entrance hall- resigned to the whispers- as he made his decision. He would not take the route suggested to him by Potter and Granger. No.
He could not lie in the court, obviously, about being one of the "Good Guys", but he could avoid answering questions to give the illusion of being sinister and guilty. Of course, he was so patently… innocent of wrongdoing in this whole thing that he would not-could not- be sent to Azkaban. But a lack of remorse for killing Dumbledore, ambiguity on the issue of being a double agent, all this should be sufficient to have him exiled.

Just as planned.

Severus would only be satisfied away from this Ministry and the memories of his work for the Order of the bloody Phoenix. This wound was going to kill him eventually, of that he was certain, and he wished to die in his own company, in peace, in the knowledge that he had completed his task as spy and protector of Lily Evans' child. Now Severus just wished he could fathom why the bites from Nagini hadn't killed him when they were supposed to. He imagined Granger's famous mind had already begun crawling over the possibilities. He'd already heard one: Haemophilia, for Merlin's sake! Ridiculous. He shook off thoughts of the girl and focused himself, drawing on his reserves of willpower and endurance. He would need them.

Severus steeled himself and walked into the Great Hall, sweeping into his chair in the centre of the room. He would not enjoy the personal information he knew would be revealed in this next stage of the trial, but it was unavoidable. He was certain he could make it through this without the public having the slightest inkling of his true emotions. Severus noted the clanging bell that rang from the entrance hall and straightened his back: it was time for the court to reconvene.

Hermione found herself in the North Tower when she alighted from the staircase, and was forced to foot it back down to the Great Hall, unwilling to take the risk of riding the staircases through the school until she found her way. The way they were acting, Hermione was certain she'd miss the next half of the trial altogether, which would be a problem, since she was to take the floor today.

Hermione half-jogged into the entrance hall, desperate to be on time, only to run head first into an urgently whispering Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Laughing, Harry hoisted Hermione up by her elbow as the bell rang-

"You're not late, Hermione! We have to wait until they call us. It must be about to start, though, I just saw Snape swoop past. Looks in a worse mood, if possible."

Hermione swallowed, and turned to Ron so she could change the subject,

"Nice to see you, finally, Ron," She said lightly "Thought you'd turn up for the part of the trial where everyone will be looking at you?"

But Ron wasn't smiling or looking annoyed or even looking Hermione in the eye- He was staring at the base of her robes, and the stocking-clad foot under them.

"Hermione, whose blood is that?"

Hermione paled, hoping Harry had missed her stricken expression. He Hadn't:
"Oh, Ron, we have to wait, by the way, until we're called in for questioning. Did you hear me tell Hermione?" Hermione supposed that Harry had seen her discomfort and was simply attempting to save her from the blundering Ron for now- and would question her later. Unfortunately, his efforts were for naught.

"Hermione, whose blood is that?"

A few people turned to peer as they entered the Great Hall. Witches and Wizards do love a good scandal.

Hermione paused, undecided for a moment.

"It's mine, Ron. Blood nose." She said offhandedly. Hermione turned to face the Great Hall. Why had she lied?

"Blood nose?" Said Ron, grabbing Hermione's hand and turning her back. Harry hovered about like a worried mother hen.

"Come on, Ron, we gotta wait outside the-"

"How did the blood get splattered on your foot, Hermione?"

Hermione wrenched her hand away, and performed scourgify on her stockings.

"Missed the sink." She said simply. Ron looked suspicious and a touch hurt, so Hermione clamped her fingers around his wrist and walked him toward the Great Hall.

"Your concern is touching, of course, Ron, but I'm fine, really." She paused at the door to face him and Harry just behind Ron's shoulder, "I was nervous about getting up in front of all those people to testify about Snape, so I spouted a blood nose, that's all."

Ron shrugged and looked away. Hermione held in a sigh. Things had been… strange between she and Ron since the final battle. Hermione supposed she had been preoccupied with the fates of the Death Eaters and busy helping with the post-battle cleanup, and so perhaps Ron had felt neglected or inadequate. But she had more important things to concentrate on at this very moment.

"So, Ron, has Harry told you our position? And our plan?"

Ron's jaw tightened,

"Yeah. He was pretty brief about it though."

"Well if you'd been here from the beginning of the trial, Ron..." Sighed Harry.

"So," Hermione interrupted, "We do not lie, obviously. We have to because of the oath, but we mustn't even avoid telling the truth, we've got to be succinct and clear."

"Right. Succinct. Clear." Ron muttered.

"Most importantly, every question we answer- even when the answers paint Snape in a harmful light- we undercut them with a positive reminder of Snape's work." Hermione drew a deep breath. She adored explaining plans. "Harry will take care of the memories and the Dumbledore stuff, so if you're asked about those, just tell them to ask Harry. You and I will just field questions about his personality-" Ron snorted, "-And back up everything Harry says."

Ron's gaze was averted and Hermione felt her heart plummet.

"Ron…"

"What if I don't want to put all this effort into convincing them" Ron jabbed his thumb toward the closed doors, "That he's good, Hermione?

Hermione's stomach clenched, her jaw tightened, her hands balled into fists. God, he couldn't be doubting now! They needed to appear in that war court as a united front. The Golden Trio in agreement. Hermione glanced desperately at Harry, who looked stricken.

"What are you saying, Ron?"

"I don't get why you two're so convinced he deserves to be set free. Oh, I know," Ron held up a hand as Hermione and Harry both opened their mouths, "I know he loved your mum and all, Harry, and he was a double agent back then, but how do we know he's not just ultimately a greedy bastard who wanted to keep a foot on either side so he'd come out looking sparkly clean no matter which way the war went?"

Hermione's mouth was so dry she could have aguamenti'd a jet of water straight down her throat,

"Ron, you don't understand-"

Ron's eyes flashed,

"Don't I, Hermione? Or are you just blind to his faults because you can't bear to be wrong about someone you always respected so much?"

Hermione had to clasp her hands together to stop herself slapping that awful, knowing look off Ron's face. The problem was, he had a point- it was a stupid, ignorant point, but it was a point that would no doubt be brought up soon enough in the Great Hall- how did Hermione and Harry know for certain? Their trump card was the memories Snape had given Harry, but even with those…

She turned away and took in a deep breath,

"Ron, you might not trust Snape, and we don't have time to debate the finer points of your argument any more than we already have, but I'd like to think…" Hermione swallowed hard, and Harry took over. Sweet, understanding Harry.

"You should trust us, Ron. Besides, I explained this to you, mate. I don't know why you're still so suspicious of him."

Ron cleared his throat,
"Call it years of conditioning." A hand touched Hermione's shoulder lightly, "'Mione? I'm sorry. I just- I can't… I'll do it for you two. It's just… it wasn't my mum he was in love with-"

(Harry choked)

"-And I never had as much respect for his intelligence and that like that you did."

Hermione nodded and turned back to face the hall.

Ron slipped his hand into hers.

Her heart thumped heavily in her chest as she stared at the closed double doors of the Hall. Harry slipped beside Hermione and clasped her other hand as their names were called and the doors to the Great Hall opened. Hermione was glad of it; having a boy on each hand made the gesture seem like a mutual, friendly one of support and not a romantic thing. Hermione couldn't pinpoint exactly why she was uncomfortable with the latter.

Immediately when they walked into the room, the three of them dropped their hands, conscious of the eyes upon them. Suddenly, They found that their standard reaction to fear- to draw comfort from each other- seemed puerile and naïve in the face of this very adult situation.
In front of them was the Great Hall as she'd never seen it. Being at Hogwarts while security at the Ministry was refined could be comforting, but Hermione also found it disconcerting to see her beloved Great Hall filled with face forming a circle around the central point- a huge chair with loose chains dangling from its arms. The chair faced the front of the Great Hall where the staff table had been converted into a table for the Wizengamot elders and Defence officials. Chairs and benches spread out from that point, full of Wizengamot and Aurors and important civilians. The roof showed a clear and light blue sky.

Hermione drew herself up and stepped into place directly behind Severus Snape's chair: An unmistakable show of support that Snape himself was unlikely to appreciate. In her peripheries, Hermione saw Harry stride up next to her after a millisecond's hesitation. Hermione could actually hear the quiet, sharp intake of breath that seemed to come from the audience as one. The confidence of The Boy Who Lived provided a strong influence. Hermione smirked. She knew it.

The tension in the air had not released, however, as Hermione sensed every head in the room turn to the doors of the Great Hall where Ron undoubtedly hung back uncertainly. Every person in that room held their breath for the trio to be completed with the simple act of stepping forward. Hermione clenched her jaw and chanted in her head:

Come on Ron, come on Ron, come on Ron, come on Ron.

He came, noted Severus, but the sound of his footsteps told him that Ronald Weasley came without the open-chested gallantry of Harry Potter, or the quiet but confident self-assurance of Hermione Granger. Severus very nearly rolled his eyes at the unconvincing shuffle that brought Weasley to stand somewhere behind Severus' right ear. Severus blessed his excellent, bat-like hearing, which revealed a huff of relieved and exasperated air escaping from between Granger's teeth. So all was not well in the Golden Trio's camp. A lover's tiff, perhaps? Snape's lip curled, and he was glad of it.

Let the whole wizarding world see that he, Severus Snape was just as terrifying as ever.

A/N Whew. 5,000 words and I don't even get past the recess? Typical. Like I said, another chapter soon because I can't bear the tension this is creating in my brain. Meanwhile, feel free to review and tell me how good I am or how bad I am or how much you like Smores, you know, whatever you like.

S.O

PS. if you want to read an honestly amazing Snanger fic, read 'The Professor's Discretion.' by Twelve Years In Azkaban. Exceptional fic, as many of you may know already. Truly exceptional. And currently updating! Even better!