The lower levels of the Ministry of Magic were probably one of the most depressing places in the Wizarding world, Harry decided as he strode down the corridor in preparation of collaborating with the man he intended to defend at trial to the best of his ability.

He followed his escort, a dour-faced Auror whose name he hadn't gotten, trying his best to ignore the shouts of other prisoners in the holding cells that lined both sides of the dark marble hallway.

"He's in here," the Auror advised, unlocking the door to one such cell. "I'll need to confiscate your wand for the duration," he added.

Harry arched a brow, making no move to relinquish said wand. "I believe I'll be keeping my wand, Auror. If there's a problem, Kingsley can take it up with me later," he said, his tone brooking no argument.

The Auror frowned, obviously weighing the consequences of denying The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Kill-Voldemort his wand, versus the repurcussions of breaking regulations.

Harry sighed. "I'm not going to do anything to the prisoner, but I will not give over to my wand to anyone, for any reason. You're an Auror; I'm certain you understand the desire to remain armed at all times?"

The Auror wavered, then finally gave a slight nod. "Understood, Mr. Potter. Just know that if the prisoner takes it off you, you'll be held responsible for whatever is done with it."

The dark-haired teen smirked. "Never happen, but thank you for the warning all the same," he drawled, stepping through the now-open cell door and shutting it firmly behind him, effectively ending the conversation.

The cell was small and dark, barely illuminated by a weak shaft of sunlight that came through a tiny window at the top of the cell. There was a cot with a pathetically thin mattress, and a threadbare sheet. No pillow.

There was a chamberpot in the corner furthest from the cot, but no toilet tissue or other supplies to offer even the slightest modicum of respect for whomever found themselves unlucky enough to be quartered in the tiny space.

"Potter."

Harry was drawn out of his indignation at the conditions of the cell with an almost physical jerk, musing inwardly that it was almost funny that Snape could inject that amount of venom into one word.

"Professor Snape," he replied, giving a slight nod.

Snape's lips compressed into a thin line. "Come to gloat, then? I suppose you'd like pictures for such an auspicious occasion as being in attendance to see me punished for all my failings to adhere to your moral standards."

Harry stared at his former professor in silence for a long moment before chuckling wryly. "I'd almost forgotten what a git you could be, Professor. Oddly enough, it's rather comforting that you haven't changed."

"Of course. I live to serve," the ebony-haired Potions master said, the sarcasm thick enough to cut with a knife.

Harry snorted. "Not hardly," he replied, then shook his head. "As entertaining as it is to exchange jibes with you, I do actually have a reason for visiting you, so please try to keep that sharp tongue of yours behind your teeth for a bit, won't you?"

Snape's dark eyes flashed dangerously, but he remained silent, waiting for Harry to elaborate.

The former Seeker began pacing the short length of the cell, casting a muffliato distractedly after the first circuit to keep anyone from eavesdropping. "Right. Basically, what it boils down to is that you're up on charges as a Death Eater. The main charge of course being murdering Dumbledore," he recapped, glancing up at Snape momentarily. "No solicitors in the Wizarding world are accepting cases that involve the defense of accused Death Eaters, so your defense depends on people willing to testify on your behalf and give evidence that clears you," he said.

Snape gave a dark chuckle. "Indeed. Well, I suppose I should be flattered they sent you personally to advise me of my imminent demise, Potter, what with your greatly improved standing."

Harry shook his head. "No, that's not why I'm here. I'm here because I'm going to testify on your behalf."

The ex-Death-Eater stood abruptly, glowering down at the much shorter man. "I neither need, nor want your assistance, Potter," he spat, fury flashing in his dark eyes.

Heartbeat in his throat, Harry forced himself to stand his ground without flinching back from the strength of his former-professor's ire. "With all due respect, sir, I wasn't giving you a choice in my testimony. I'm here to make sure I have all the information I need to give an accurate account, and to find out if there's anything that might come up down the line that could cause issues, nothing more, nothing less."

The emotionless mask was back on the sallow face, though Snape's eyes still roiled with barely-surpressed anger. "And I suppose the fact that I will be indebted to you is a mere trifle," he sneered.

Harry frowned. "I don't see how you could possibly be indebted to me, considering the fact that you've saved my life more times than I can count, Professor, but that's besides the point. I have Dumbledore's Pensive, his portrait, and your own memories, along with mine. I've already signed a waiver that gives the Wizengamot permission to administer Veritaserum when I'm on the stand, but I need to know if there's anything the prosecution might bring up that I'm not already aware of, in at least a general sense. Anything they might be able to present evidence on that I won't be able to explain."

Snape smirked. "Any number of things, I'm sure. What you know could fit in a teaspoon, Potter," he drawled silkily. "There are details of revels that would give you nightmares, boy. You have no idea what you're defending."

The ex-Gryffindor shook his head. "You're wrong. I saw most of those revels, remember?" he pointed out. "And for someone who seems to be trying his level best to present himself as the embodiment of evil to me, I find it rather odd that I distinctly recall you doing as little as possible during aforementioned revels."

"Leave me."

"You're not going to scare me off, you know," Harry informed him calmly.

"Remove yourself from this room, Potter," the Potions master snarled, fists clenched.

"You're not guilty of murder, and I intend to prove it," the young man said quietly, green eyes meeting burning onyx unflinchingly.

"Get out!" Snape roared, shaking with the force of his rage.

Sighing, Harry canceled the privacy spell and opened the cell door, turning to regard his former professor over one shoulder. "I'll be back, Professor. You aren't going to be punished for something you had so little control over, regardless if you think you deserve it or not."

The Auror gave Harry a questioning look, but the young man refused to comment. There was a lot of work to do, and very little time to do it.