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The Last 24 Hours of Severus Snape	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 17387 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from writing these stories.

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A/N: So it would appear that when all of my plot bunnies were left to fester and stew on their own in the closet, they turned to dark and hungry vorpal rabbits out to destory the happiness sunshine and rainbows of the world. This is a dark story, probably sad, probably not going to end happy. Probably.

Hermione Granger had never been so thoroughly dumbstruck in all of her life. She sat at the tiny desk afforded to her in the too tightly crammed office, which was really a broom closet that they had cleared out and slapped a nameplate to the door of, clutching the parchment in her hand. It had arrived just a few moments ago, straight through the mail slat in her door, presumably by inter-office memo. At first she hadn’t been particularly interested in reading another humdrum notification about department policy changes. But the longer it had sat on the floor of her office the more curious she had become. She had never been one to simply let things be.

            Her heart was thumping heavily in her chest. How had the Wizengamot reconvened without her notice? But that was the least important question racing through her mind. Her eyes were straining in their sockets as she read the parchment again, as if somehow forcing herself to read it harder would change what was written there.

            In accordance with the most recent session of the Wizengamot, the arrest of wizard Severus Tobias Snape has been issued and the prisoner has been taken into Ministry custody. A hearing, where withheld, resulting in a verdict of guilty, has expedited the prisoner to Azkaban to be sentenced to death in a standard fashion in concordance with muggle law, an electrocution, chosen by the Wizengamot, to be more humane than the Dementor’s Kiss. Execution date slated for sunrise on this coming Thursday the 19^th of December.

            There were stains on the parchment, droplets of water that she hadn’t noticed until just then had fallen from her own eyes. Wiping furiously at the tears Hermione slammed her fists down on the desk. She’d worked harder than hell to ensure he would be given a chance; and a fair chance to escape the wrath of the Ministry in regards to his life as a Death Eater and crimes committed therein. All of her work for naught so it would seem.

            The lower petal of her lip blossomed with blood as she bit it hard, trying to steal herself against the onslaught of tears and anger that she could feel bubbling up inside of her. They had no right. He would have been too proud to request council, or she would have been there. They were in accordance with Ministry law meant to provide him council should he not provide his own. But they were sly. And she knew in her heart of hearts that they had it out for him the moment they had learned of his miraculous recovery.

            It was already close of business Tuesday. Hermione, who had no intentions of returning home, penned two quick notices, the first to Harry Potter, a brief apology for breaking their dinner engagement. He was no doubt going to tell her about the fourth child that Ginny would soon be expecting, but it could wait. The second notice she placed upon the main desk as she slipped out of her tiny office and began the long trek down the corridors to the main floo connections. It was for the secretary of the department. She would be taking the next two days as personal leave and was not to be contacted under any circumstances.

            No floo in the world would connect her directly to Azkaban. The closest she could get was the shore point watch tower a few miles out. And requesting a boat out in the rollicking surf as the sun began to set was no small task either. But after much arguing with the boatman, and paying him nearly triple than what was reasonable, Hermione Granger found herself standing at the large stonewalled entrance to the prison. Immediately she could feel the happiness fleeing her, the darkness starting to suck at her from deep within. She reached into the pocket of her cloak and pulled out a small vial; a white swirling mist gently floating within the glass. Pulling up the stopper she tipped the vial back and swallowed the strange shimmering potion.

            It had been his invention. Something he had worked on while he had been kept in ministry custody. In her custody. Combining the elements of a Patronus charm and a general healing potion to make a perfectly ingestible liquid that would help stave off the effects of Dementors. It had been sheer genius. Immediately the potion’s effects began to work on her body and the horrid sense of unending dread ceased as she moved up to the small gate that marked the entrance. She could feel her skin tingling, little glimmers of happy thoughts flitting through her mind. The man was a genius, which made it all the harder knowing that he would be put to death on Thursday morning.

            The long dark corridor dripped terribly and smelled of filth and foul disease. The conditions of the prison were deplorable, but she was hard pressed to make an argument for such criminals. Her heart only bled because he was not one of them; he was not a criminal and he did not belong there. The burly man, who had identified himself as Ivan, had refused her admittance to see him. Despite the fact that she was his previous legal counsel, despite the fact that she had the appropriate Ministry approved clearance; it had taken her nearly an hour and some very violent wand threats to finally be led through to the solitary confinement chambers.

            The cell door was a solid block of steel. No window, a tiny slat for a food tray that had bolts and a keyhole on the outside. It made her cringe. He did not deserve this. When Ivan stopped abruptly and nodded at the door, Hermione only nodded her head in silence.

            “Your magic won’t work in there, Missy,” he said smartly.

            “I am aware of that,” she said with a cool level tone, narrowing her eyes. “Which is why you will be transferring the patient to a cell that enables me to use my magic, Merlin only knows that you’ve not kept him clean or fed or any of the standard courtesies that are required by Ministry decree of those in your care,” she snarled.

            “I already told you, on orders from the Minister himself this son of a bitch ain’t being moved.”

            “And I’ve already told you, the minister can shove it. If you won’t move him, then you’ll lower the wards so that I can use my bloody wand, I know you can do that, Ivan. I know the workings of this prison quite well as I managed to keep my client out of its infernal walls for quite some time,” she snapped.

            The burly guard contemplated her for quite some time. “I will discuss the request with the night guard at shift change in a few hours time,” he said and then pulled several keys and his wand from the loop around his belt. Hermione had already made it clear that she intended to stay with him until the execution and that anyone attempting to impede her in doing so was going to be meeting the sore end of a series of hexes she was just itching to try out.

            She glared at the guard, who for a moment stood unmoving, still not convinced that letting her in to see the prisoner was the best of ideas. But under her unyielding, piercing gaze he finally shrugged his shoulders. “If he’s such a big deal you’d think as his counsel you’d have been here sooner,” he sneered and began fiddling with the many locks that held the large door in place.

            “Sooner?” she asked, the ire in her voice barely contained. “What do you mean sooner? I only just received word this afternoon?”

            A loud clink filled the corridor as the last of the locks was undone. Materializing before their eyes was a large iron cross bar which Ivan struggled a good deal to slide out of its latch, the door finally free of restraints and ready to be opened. The burly guard chuckled. “Guess your word got delayed in the post then, Missy, they brought this poor bastard in nearly a month ago.”

            Hermione did not have time for her stomach to roil in disgust or for the slew of verbal insults to fly from her tongue that were poised and ready as the door was pushed inward and along with it her person as the guard clapped her heavily upon her back. She stumbled nearly toppling completely off balance and was thrown into complete darkness as the door slammed into place behind her.

            Immediately her nose was overwhelmed with the stench of the room. Foul filth, human excrement and sweat, vomit and blood; the acrid stench of ammonia curdling her blood as she leaned back against the now closed door. “Damnit,” she hissed. In total darkness there was no way of discerning where he was, and she wasn’t about to feel her way around the cell, though it was tiny, in the event that she would trip over him and do them both harm.

            Fumbling for a moment she reached into her cloak pocket and withdrew a packet of matches. While magic was not available to her, she had been bright enough to think outside the box. All cells, be them regular or those of solitary confinement were issued standard with a torch mounted on either side of the door. This was to ensure that the prisoners were not deprived of light. However, nowhere in the care manual of prisoners enslaved to Azkaban did it state that at any time was it mandatory for the torches to be lit. She extended her left hand out slowly against the wall, scraping her fingers along the rough stone just beyond the bound of the door and after a moment she felt it, the base of a torch.

            It took her three strikes before she could manage the match to light, already she could feel the difference in temperature, and had she been able to see anything she was certain she would have seen her breath before her eyes. The tiny glow flickered helplessly against the darkness as she raised it up to meet the lip of the torch. A flame exploded from where she had held the match and cast a burst of orange dancing light across the cell. With this light she quickly found the torch on the other side of the door and lit it needing only one firm strike of the match to do so.

            The light was not much but it was enough to see the squalor in which he’d been forced to live for a month. How on earth had she not known that he’d been forced into Azkaban for a month’s time? Only a month ago she had secured his release after standing trial at the Wizengamot. It made her rage and she was certain when she was through the Minister as well as all of those sitting chair on the Wizengamot would know of the great injustice they’d managed to sneak past her.

            Hermione drew shallow breaths, drawing them through her mouth to help ease the stench as it assaulted her nose. A chamber pot in the far corner was well past needing emptying, excrement and puddles of urine and other unidentifiable fluids having congealed thickly around the floor at its base. There was no sink or wash basin, and only a lump of black rags in the opposite corner serving as the bed. The cell was no more than three by four, so that he would not be able to properly lie down had they provided him even a modest mattress.

            Her heart sank as she realized that the lump of black rags in the opposite corner was not in fact his bed, but him, huddled against himself, shivering slightly, his bare feet poking out from beneath him. She cupped her hand to her mouth to keep from sobbing. She could not see his face from where he crouched huddled in that corner only two feet from the pot of filth that had served as his toilet; uncleansed and unemptied for a month. His hair, long and scraggly, unkempt and unwashed shrouded him as did the filthy black rags that they had draped him in.

            It took her several moments before she felt sure enough of herself that she would not burst into sobs and throw herself atop him before she finally removed her hand from her mouth. She spun on her heel and began banging the code against the door that Ivan had issued to her should she change her mind and wish to leave. And no sooner had she begun to bang it did the door once more swing inward, nearly pinning her to the wall of the cramped cell. Hermione quickly slipped back out into the corridor.

            “Monsters,” she spat. “All of you. I demand to be taken to the lieutenant this instant,” she stomped her foot against the floor to emphasize her point. Whether or not it added the intended effect she didn’t know but Ivan shrugged his shoulders, sliding the heavy iron bar back into place across the door before heading off down the corridor.

            Hermione found herself seated opposite of a rather dour looking elderly man with a dusting of snow white hair cropped short across the top of his head. “It’s deplorable. The conditions, beyond being unsanitary, are inhumane!” she had lost control of her temper some time ago and was no longer able to control the volume at which she spoke. “He’s a human being, for Merlin’s sake and even if he is to be put to death I’ve seen cows led to slaughter that have been treated better!” She slammed both of her hands down against the grained woodwork of the lieutenant’s desk, on her feet pacing once more. “I want him moved! I want him discharged into my custody! And I want his execution stayed until I am able to reconvene the Wizengamot myself as this prisoner was tried unjustly without the presence of counsel!”

            For several long moments the lieutenant said nothing. He glanced from Hermione to papers on his desk to the teacup that sat idly in front of his hands and then back to Hermione. And after a few moments more he sighed. “Miss— what did you say your name was again?” he asked.

            “Granger!” she spat. “Hermione Jane Granger! Legal Counsel for the Department of Defense at the Ministry of Magic! Formerly part of the Golden Trio?” her eyes were wide with her incredulity as if not believing that her name had not reached this assbackwards wizard’s ear. She had never before used her name and the clout associated with it to gain her favors as some had done after the war, but to meet someone who had no idea who she was or how important it was that in that moment her orders be obeyed was unheard of. “Best bloody friend of Harry Potter?” her shrill accusation of her person seemed to fall on deaf ears.

            “Look, Miss Granger,” the lieutenant said slowly leaning forward in his chair to retrieve his teacup. “I understand that you’re one of those fancy ministry lawyers, but I’ve got orders from the Minister—”

            Hermione slammed her hands down hard on the desk bringing her nose within an inch of his face. “If I hear one more bloody person say that they’ve orders from the Minister I’m going to hex you six ways to Sunday and I can promise that you won’t sit straight for a week!” She did not draw back from him as she continued. “I don’t care if you’ve got orders from Albus Bloody Dumbledore— though with my luck you’ve never heard of him either— I am telling you this— as of right now you have my orders and if they are not obeyed I can promise you all hell is going to break loose the likes of which you’ve never seen.”

            Her chest was rising and falling heavily with anger. And when the lieutenant made no move to speak or even draw himself back from where he had leaned over the desk she drew her wand and pointed it against his forehead. “You will release Severus Snape to my custody immediately. You will escort us both back to the mainland providing safe passage and ensuring that the Dementors do not set upon us, and you will then return back to this stinking festering pit of a prison and have every inch of parchment regarding his admission and day to day care since sent to my office at the Ministry before midnight or so help me Merlin I promise you I will have you kissed and that is a promise that I intend to make good on!”

            It was another long tense silence after she’d barked her final demand. The lieutenant rose slowly from his chair, keeping a wary eye on her as he did. Finally he cleared his throat and spoke. “I can’t release him, your threats mean very little to me, without a word of pardon from the Minister the wards that keep the Dementors at bay can’t be lifted— so even if I were to set him out in that boat to the mainland with you and I aboard it, how well do you think the two of us would fare against several dozen of them— them— things?” he asked sounding truly frightened by the hooded demons.

            He cleared his throat again and then continued. “I, have no intentions of being hexed or kissed or anything but you’re going to have to change up your demands, Missy, because there are just some things I simply cannot do.”

            Hermione gazed at him as if a Dementor had suddenly seized her; terrified horror as the last of her hope was ripped from within her heart. Had she not been clutching so firmly to the edge of his desk she would have toppled backward and landed on her bottom. “You have to let him out of that room,” she said, struggling to contain her anger which was now mingling with the bitter sting of tears. “He’s not a criminal, he’s a hero—”

            “Miss Granger, I may not know much, but I know the Ministry doesn’t generally throw heroes into Azkaban,” he said and then stood up. “Now, I can let you use the floo to contact someone in your department, and I can see if in the morning or the next day he can be transferred to a different cell but I can’t—”

            “You idiot! He’s slated for execution on Thursday morning! It’s Tuesday night!” she cried.

            The lieutenant frowned and then turned a reprimanding look on her. “Pardon me, ma’am, but I think you might be the idiot, if he’s dying anyway than what difference does it make if he stays in that room or not?” Those would be the last words he would say as her fist connected squarely with his jaw, rendering it a good deal out of place.

            “You will send that brute of yours to get that cell opened and you will open the floo connection,” she said gazing at him with a frightened madness in her eyes. “Now!” she barked, watching as the lieutenant, who was clutching his jaw with fright, shuffled over to the barricaded fireplace and began unwarding it.

            The green flames had licked her thoroughly as she’d splashed through it, using emergent access to grant her admission first to the main network in the Ministry and from there to the Minister’s office.

            “This is highly unusual and highly uncalled for, Miss Granger,” the Minister said with a frown on his lips. The dark skinned wizard sat in the chair behind his desk watching the frantic young woman pace back and forth. “I cannot simply order a prisoner out of Azkaban simply because you have a bleeding heart, Hermione,” he said, using her name with a slight familiarity.

            “He’s not a criminal! He doesn’t belong there!” she cried. “Kingsley, for Merlin’s sake you know this is wrong!”

            Kingsley Shacklebolt sighed. “My hands are tied. If they chose to convene the Wizengamot without me there’s very little I can do about it, after the change in the Minister’s role and involvement with the council my attendance is no longer required so long as the Supreme Mugwump and four other high chairs are present.”

            “But he was denied counsel!”

            “Be that as it may, I can’t simply go walking him out of a sentence that’s been handed down by the justice system, it will throw our whole working government off-kilter and once there’s an exception made for one they’ll all want exceptions made on their behalf.”

            Hermione threw her hands up in the air. “I’m not asking for you to undo his sentence— just a stay of execution until it can be reinvestigated with counsel at his side! To defend him as is his right as a wizard!”

            Kingsley caught her gaze and sighed. “You know that no good is going to come of this, Hermione.”

            “I won’t let him die because a group of aristocratic idiots lost their interests and fortunes by betting on the wrong side of the war! He should not have to suffer one moment more because they’re spinning in their piss over the fact that they lost their summer mansions and winter cottages and the respect that used to come with their ridiculous pureblood lineage! They’ve lost all their power and what little of it they have left they’re using to manipulate the system to turn their angry vengeance upon him! Hasn’t he given enough already?”

            “Hermione—”

            “Kingsley, please! Short of physically being on my knees I am begging you— do not turn a blind eye to this— you have to grant him a pardon.”

            He gazed at the girl pensively for a moment. “Are you prepared to defend him?”

            “What?”she asked, his question catching her slightly off-guard. “Of course I am.”

            “Right now?” he asked.

            “Whenever it is necessary; now, tomorrow, until the end of his natural life should he need it—”

            “Then go,” he said. “Downstairs to the hearing chambers, the prisoner need not be present if his counsel is willing to represent him, I’ll grant an emergency summons of the Wizengamot to consider your plea.” Kingsley nodded to her and did not wait for her retort, moving to the door of his office, waiting for her to follow.

~*~

            “You gave a passionate plea, a more convincing argument could not have been made on his behalf, Hermione.” The words of the minister did little to console her. She was shaking, half in a blind fury and half with irreparable grief. His large dark hand rested gently on her shoulder and he gave her a gentle squeeze. “They have agreed to allow you total access to him, to stay with him, give him anything he wishes save for release from his sentence from now until Thursday morning,” he said.

            Hermione was numb. Her heart had stopped beating and in that fleeting moment she wished herself dead. “It isn’t fair,” she whispered.

            “I am arranging to have him transported to a holding chamber here, you can do with him as you see fit until then, Hermione. It’s the best I can offer you. Make him comfortable, clean him up, do what you wish, but it is all I can do,” he said and with another gentle squeeze to her shoulder he swept from the waiting chamber just outside of the grand hearing room.

            She had been escorted shortly thereafter down a long white corridor a level below the hearing chambers. It was filled with holding cells, containment wards, and rooms of the like; she’d been there before, seeing prisoners as per her job requirements. At the moment it was empty; an eerie sense making the hairs on her the back of her neck stand on end.

            At the end of the long corridor she saw them; two large guards that she knew well, assigned to the security detail of the prisoners being held at the Ministry. And again she cupped her hand to her mouth to keep from crying out. Like a sack of meat they dragged him, his ankles shackled together in irons, the same as his wrists with a joining chain that attached to his neck. He was hardly alive let alone in need of such restraints and seeing him as such made her cringe. She narrowed her eyes at the guards as they approached her, his toes scraping along the polished white floor of the corridor.

            “It’s standard procedure, Hermione,” the minister, who had been hidden by the bulk of the guards appeared from behind them. “All prisoner transfers are done with restraints,” he said.

            She held her tongue and simply kept quiet as Kingsley moved around past the guards to where she stood in front of a door. “This room is not much but it should afford you everything you need, your wand will work here, but don’t try anything funny like apparation or some other means of trying to escape,” he said. “A guard will be by on Thursday morning an hour before his scheduled time to…” his voice trailed off. “Well to prepare him. You are welcome to attend, though I would advise against it.”

            “Just let me in,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

            Kingsley Shacklebolt tapped his wand several times against the door before it finally opened. The guards dragged Severus through the doorway and stood just inside the room. It was small, with two doors on the back wall and little else present. “If you need anything a guard will be posted outside of the door at all times, you are free to come and go as you wish, no one will disturb you,” he said. “Should you need help or wish to leave you can tap your wand against the door and a guard will immediately respond.”

            Hermione glared at the two guards. “Well?” she crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at them. “Unchain him! He’s not an animal!”

            The two guards exchanged furtive glances between one another before turning their eyes to the minister. Kingsley slowly nodded his head. “He is a man condemned to death and counsel has waived her protection rights, though they are still gladly opened to her,” he said with a tone of warning. “It is uncustomary to allow a prisoner unsupervised with counsel out of their restraints, however, given the circumstances I shall allow it,” he said and at his word the two guards began to undo the manacles from around his wrists and ankles, popping the one off around his neck last.

            Severus who had been kept up on his feet by the guards crumpled forward and fell to the floor in a heap of the filthy rags that clung loosely to his body. Without another word, Kingsley Shacklebolt and the two guards departed the small room, closing the door behind them; leaving Hermione alone with Severus Snape.

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The Last 24 Hours of Severus Snape