When Dumbledore finished speaking, the office fell silent for several seconds. The fire in the hearth burned lower, and ashes fell from the grate with a faint sound, like something breaking apart.
Severus Snape straightened up from the sofa and adjusted his robes. "A very splendid script, Dumbledore. Tight plot, vivid characters, one climax after another. Unfortunately, you forgot one thing."
He looked at Dumbledore, his black eyes holding both mockery and anger. "What do you intend to do about those whose lives Lockhart destroyed with Memory Charms? Are you planning to put them before the Wizengamot hearing as 'victims'? Some of them have already chosen to forgive him, chosen to use Lockhart's compensation to convince themselves."
"And now you actually intend to tear open the wounds in their hearts, even tell them before the media—'I'm going to expose your husband's/wife's/son's/daughter's scars for everyone to see. This is for Dumbledore's justice'?"
He gave a cold laugh. "You even plan to have St. Mungo's doctors prove that their brains were damaged? That requires their families' consent, but you cannot find them. You did not read the newspapers carefully before, did you? That so-called relief fund set up by the Pure-Blood Alliance has been working with the Ministry of Magic, under strict secrecy, even providing close protection for certain widows."
Dumbledore lightly tapped a finger against the desk. The sound was quiet, but it was like a needle piercing their increasingly sharp exchange. "I will find them."
Snape looked at him for several seconds. Something flickered in those black eyes—not surprise, but the weary understanding of you are always like this. He turned and walked toward the door. His black robes billowed behind him, trailing a shallow arc across the carpet.
Snape's hand was already on the doorknob when McGonagall's voice caught