Harry had fallen into a restless sleep, filled with unsettling dreams of trees grabbing at him in the darkness and flashes of green light behind the silhouette of a noose. Harry awoke several times in the night, his robes tangled around him and the brightness seemingly burnt into his eyes, the dreaded rope following his gaze. He awoke perhaps three times, and all of those times Snape was awake, his unfaltering gaze trained upon the wall opposite him. Snape had dark shadows under his eyes, and he looked very deep in thought. On the third time Harry awoke, Snape looked over to him.

       "You were calling out Potter ..." Snape said uncomfortably.

       Harry stared down at his feet. "Er, what did I say?" He wondered if he really wanted to know.

       Snape looked as though he didn't expect the question. He turned back to the wall rather mechanically, and replied, "It sounded like ... mother."

       "She was in my dream," Harry muttered, rather confused.  "I don't know what she looks like though, so how can I see her in a dream?"

       "Subconscious memory perhaps," Snape drawled listlessly. "Or perhaps you have merely created an image of her."

      "How can I tell if I just made her up?" Harry whispered, eyes round.

     "Describe her," Snape replied simply after a pause.

Harry looked at him strangely, but began anyway. "She didn't look anything like Aunt Petunia. Her image was kind of fuzzy, so I couldn't see her properly. But she had red hair, and I'm pretty sure her eyes were green too."

        "I think it is a subconscious memory then," Snape said slowly.

        "How did you know? Did you know my mum?"

        Snape hesitated, still examining the stone in the wall opposite. He opened his mouth, and closed it. Harry awaited an answer, but decided by the pained look on his Professor's face that he was fed up and had had enough questions from him already. So, instead of pressing the issue Harry tried to go back to sleep, which was not easy. But, after a long time of lying still, he was just about to drift off. Harry could feel himself being pulled under by deep waves of sleep, and only just heard the words that his professor spoke aloud to himself, clearly not aware of the fact that he was not the only one awake still.

        "She was beautiful," Snape whispered tiredly, "and I never deserved her."        

          Before he could even consider these words, let alone commit them to memory, Harry slipped into a deep slumber, filled with dreams of a soft, comforting voice and laughing green eyes. And unbeknownst to him, Snape soon fell into dreams not so different from his own.

      ***

      Snape paced restlessly, back and forth across the cell until Harry was sure the stone floor had grown smoother beneath his feet. Meanwhile Harry sat equally as restlessly upon the floor, back against the wall, worrying. For McTavish had come in early that morning, and informed them when the trial would take place. According to McTavish the local magistrate (who handled many legal affairs around the town) required their presence that evening, and McTavish had said that they would be going in separately for the court to examine. Snape had argued with McTavish for the both of them to remain together (something Harry found oddly comforting in such days of unfamiliarity), but he did not relent, and merely laughed at the request before putting on his hat and leaving.

       And so they were condemned to wait, the hours seeming to go by in strange increments as the panel of sunlight shifted on the floor and disappeared, the sun rising into the sky only to begin to fall once more. Sometimes the time seemed to have turned to treacle, sticky and slow moving, and at other moments it seemed to have become a waterfall as the minutes tumbled by, bringing them ever closer to the inevitable moment when they would know their fate.

      The stale bread and water in Harry's stomach seemed to do flip flops every time he glanced out the window and saw the light had grown ever so slightly dimmer. Judging by the look on Snape's face, he was in the same predicament. It was almost a relief when McTavish came for them. Almost. He unlocked the door, and with the help of Bruce, tied their hands up and led them across the square to a large wooden building. It didn't quite look like a courthouse, but rather a centre for community gatherings, almost church-like in fact. They were led into an entranceway, which had a scratched wooden bench outside the large double doors, presumably into the main area. Harry could hear people talking through the thin walls, and wondered what would draw such a crowd. McTavish brought him to a halt by the doors.

       "Full tonight," he said to Harry, followed by a low, gravelly laugh as he nodded toward the entrance.

       Harry didn't respond and turned his attention to Snape, who Bruce was dragging along. His professor was resisting as much as possible. Though it was obvious he would not escape, Harry thought it was an attempt to show that he had not given up. Bruce did not take kindly to this, and gave Snape a blow to the stomach. Harry winced as Snape doubled over in pain, strands of his black hair falling over his eyes.

      "Quit struggling or else ..." Bruce hissed dangerously in his ear, beefy hand pressing on the back of Snape's neck briefly before dragging him upright again. Panting, Snape shook his hair out of his face, eyes flickering up to where McTavish stood.

         "Watch this one too while I address the court," McTavish said smoothly before slipping through the doors and closing them behind him.

        Bruce had both of his hands gripping Snape and Harry.

        "They're going to have you hanging by the neck," Bruce spat at Snape, who was still looking extremely defiant.

        "Have you no decency?" Snape growled, glancing over at the worried expression on Harry's face. "There is a child present."

        Harry looked sharply at him, surprised.

        "What does it matter? He's devil's spawn as far as I am concerned. I saw what he did to that lantern!"

        Before Snape could retort McTavish came thundering through the doors, a roguish grin on his face.

        "The court wants the boy first," he said smoothly.

        Once McTavish had taken down both of their names (Snape didn't think there was any point in concealing their identity, as they were in the past) Harry took a deep breath, and Snape, behind him, took one as well. The doors opened, and McTavish dragged Harry down the aisle. Eyes peered at him, and whispers erupted in the hushed silence of the room. Some hissed angrily, others looked frightened. But of all the people in the courtroom, none looked as though they wished him well. Harry was placed at the front of the room, facing a person that Harry thought looked like a judge. There was a large wooden cross fastened to the wall behind him.

       McTavish gave the judge the paper with their names, and he peered down at it with squinting eyes before looking down upon Harry. There were a few other people sitting up at the front of the room as well, and they all stared at Harry in scrutiny. He wished nothing more but to disappear as the crowd behind him whispered. He caught snippets of conversations behind him as the stage whispers floated about the room.

      " - work of the devil!"

      "Nasty little boil who -"

      "-our children deserve safety from -"

      "- no mother or father here? Well it is obvious why if he's a -"

      McTavish retreated from the front and took a seat in a chair to the side, and immediately the room fell silent. The judge, who reminded Harry of a rather stern bird, glanced around the room before speaking.

      "Harry James Potter," he began, reading his name off the sheet in a nasally voice, "You have been brought here under the accusation of witchcraft. Do you deny it?"

       Harry's mind flashed back to the hushed conversation he had had with Snape back in the jail. He breathed in deeply, hearing Snape's voice ring through his head.

      "There are far worse things waiting for us if we tell the truth. These are muggles who don't know what they've gotten into, so you must lie Potter, and stick to your story. It is the only way out, and pleading guilty will not earn us a lesser sentence; this is McTavish's court, and he knows what we are."

      "Yes, I deny it. I am innocent." Harry replied, trying to sound like he was not nervous.

      The crowd roared in outrage, shocking Harry so much he whirled around, feeling like a deer in the headlights. He was horrified at the things the crowd screamed at him.

     "SCUM, DEVIL WORSHIPING SCUM!"

      "SILENCE! THE COURT WILL COME TO ORDER!" cried the judge.

      "GUILTY, GUILTY!"

      "BE DAMNED WITH YOU!"

     The judge pounded with his roughly hewn gavel many times until the people had settled down, but Harry could feel the heat rising in the back of his neck and eyes boring into his skull. It had taken this to realise just how real the danger was, and at once Harry felt as though he might just throw up.

      "Your Honour," McTavish said greasily, "I have evidence, if you will hear my testimony."

      "The court now recognizes Blaine McTavish," said the judge, and Harry was shooed to sit down by Earl, who had been standing nearby just in case Harry made a break for it.

        Harry watched McTavish stand up at the front of the room, a nasty glint in his eye. He had grabbed a package from a bench at the side of the room. It looked to be wrapped up in cloth, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion what it was. A hot, sick feeling crept into Harry's stomach as McTavish began telling the story of how he had been caught. McTavish was at the part where he had a hold of Harry, and, according to him he had been examining him for witch marks, whatever those were. Harry knew what was coming next, and took a deep breath, trying to remain calm and not give anything away. He suddenly wished, unable to help himself, that Snape was sitting next to him. Even having Snape sitting beside him in such a hostile place would have been welcome to Harry as he felt the waves of hatred crash down on him from all directions. At least his professor was fairly predictable. 

      "- something in his eyes, your Honour, I could see it. And then, the lantern in my hand shattered. The lantern was almost new. It was him for sure, and I even saw a little flash behind his eyes just as it broke!"

      Harry repeated in his mind the fact that McTavish didn't have proof over and over in his head, like a mantra. But he felt his last ounce of bravery crumble when he saw once again what McTavish had in his arms. He had forgotten the bundle during the lengthy explanation of what had occurred, and his previous assumptions were correct.

      "WITCHCRAFT!" shouted McTavish, unrolling the bundle and holding up the splintered frame of the lantern above his head, the crowd gasping as they caught sight of the scorch marks on the wood as well.

        Though the marks were not of Harry's doing, the crowd seemed to think that it was not a candle that had scorched the splintered wood frame. The judge squinted at it and whispered something to another old man beside him. Harry wondered if he was part of the jury, but couldn't decide because the court seemed quite different from anything he knew of.

        The judge hammered on his gavel, and with each angry crack upon the wood Harry felt his heart thump wildly beneath his chest, almost as though it were trying to leap out of him and run away. Once silence had restored (or at least Harry supposed it was silent, for he could not hear for the rushing in his ears) McTavish went to have a word with the judge, looking triumphant. The judge nodded to whatever he was told. Harry did not hear, but the judge soon announced it anyways.

      "If the accused could please come forward," he said airily.

      Harry stumbled the few feet to where he was supposed to stand, facing the crowd, and rather felt like he had left his insides back in his seat.

      "You may proceed," the Judge said to McTavish.

      "Gentlemen, you may remember me mentioning that I was looking for a witch mark when the lantern was broken."

      McTavish walked over to Harry, who flinched when a cold hand was put upon his forehead. He felt his heart sink when his hair was lifted up.

      "What, might I ask, is this?" said McTavish. "For those of your far  away, it is a mark that looks like a lightning bolt. Or perhaps, a magic spell flying through the air."

      This time the courtroom was dead silent.

      "Boy, where did you get this mark?" questioned the judge.

      "I-I," Harry stammered. What was he supposed to say? He couldn't go with the modern muggle explanation of having gotten it in a car crash, and he couldn't exactly say he got blasted by a dark wizard as a baby, so he went with the first thing that came into his head. "I f-fell out of a tree."

      "He fell out of a tree," drawled McTavish slowly. "A tree in the forest where you were found, where witches are known to be hiding out?"

      "N-No! Just a tree back home."

      "Where is home?" he replied slyly.

       Harry couldn't say anything for that, knowing that he had dug himself a hole he couldn't quite fill in. He opened his mouth to stammer out an answer, but the judge interrupted.

     "Enough. Prick him McTavish, and then we will all see."

     "P-prick me?" Harry muttered, his confusion falling on deaf ears.

      McTavish went to the side and returned with a little wooden box. He pulled out a long needle, which made Harry shiver. He made quite the show of cleaning it with a wet rag, and Harry suddenly remembered that there was likely essence of dittany on it, like he had heard said earlier. He almost let out a little gasp as his hand was pulled up to McTavish by Earl. The judge leaned forward. Harry tried to resist, though it was pointless, and pulled his hand away, knowing it was rigged. But McTavish yanked his arm toward him painfully. Harry felt his joints groan in protest.

     "Ow, stop it!" Harry cried more loudly than he intended as his arm was yanked again. "Stop it!"

       "Potter!" cried a distant voice, sounding frantic. "If you've hurt him I swear-"

       Harry could hear a shuffle from behind the doors, and realised it was Snape. There was a bang, followed by a thump, and Harry thought he heard a slight moan.

       "Don't hurt him!" Harry said to no one, suddenly scared for Snape.

     "Stay still boy," McTavish growled in his ear, "or I will!"

     Harry froze, eyes stinging as the needle was jabbed into his fingertip, making a small cut which, as Harry had thought, healed instantly because of the dittany. The predictable responses rang through the air, and Harry felt his strength leaving him as each shout rang through the court.

      "WITCH!"

      "DEVIL!"

      "KILL HIM KILL HIM!"

      "HAVE HIS NECK!"

      "KILL HIM!"

      "LET HIM BE HANGED, JUDGE!"

       The oxygen suddenly left Harry's lungs, and he felt the room spinning out of control and the fear threatening to engulf him. Precious little food in his system only contributed to the way his legs shook beneath him and the room swam around him. Screaming faces contorted before him as they danced frighteningly before his vision. The light suddenly seemed dimmer and the floor felt like it had disappeared beneath Harry's feet, and he felt himself falling into blackness, out before he hit the rough wood floor.