Title: All That Glitters
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Summary: Grief, they all knew, drove men to do strange things, and yet somehow it still surprised Harry when the burst of light left Kingsley's wand and Snape crumpled to the ground.
Author's note: For some reason, the site isn't letting me reply to reviews at the moment. So... I'll try it again later today, but probably won't be able to reply to the reviews for these chapters. Thank you, then, to all who reviewed.
Not all that is gold does glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost.
Chapter Nineteen: It All Falls Apart
Harry stared.
It was all he could do. The weight of what had just happened came crashing down on his shoulders, forcing him to his knees. The gloom of the basement was overpowering, and the silence was nearly deafening in its intensity. It was punctuated by Kingsley's ragged breaths and the rhythmic thud of his own beating heart, but both those noises faded into the background as he stared at Headmistress McGonagall's lifeless body splayed out on the floor in front of them.
She had thrown herself in front of Snape, saving him from the deadly curse.
The thought made almost no sense, and he licked his dry lips worriedly, trying to find something to grasp onto, something that could anchor him back to reality.
Kingsley moved quickly to the Headmistress' side, kneeling down in front of her. He took her hand in his, fingers searching in vain for a pulse, and as his expression shifted from one of bewildered fear to a mixture of hatred and grief, Harry felt his own heart race, and the room swam in front of him. He struggled to stay conscious, tears pricking at his eyes. In his pain and heartache, he could not even find the strength to launch his furious attack at Snape, the traitor he had hunted for so long.
When Sirius had died, Voldemort had been unable to possess him, to wrap coils around his mind and use his body against Dumbledore. When Dobby had died, the link between the minds of the Boy Who Lived and the Dark Lord had been severed, and Voldemort had been unable to find any way to break through the barriers of grief that blocked Harry's mind. Now, staring at Headmistress McGonagall's dead body, Harry knew the same thing had happened. Surrounded by the pain of loss, or, as Dumbledore would have surely corrected, the overwhelming emotion of love, his own inner demons were unable to make themselves known, and the rage slipped from him, if only for a few moments.
So Harry was a little startled at what happened next.
Snape rose to his feet, standing shakily, his sallow skin more pale than usual. And Kingsley looked up at him, face suddenly lined with rage, and raised his wand.
Grief, they all knew, drove men to do strange things, and yet somehow it still surprised Harry when the burst of light left Kingsley's wand and Snape crumpled to the ground.
And then the air around Harry grew cold, and the echoes of his dying parents reverberated through his mind. He turned, but all will power was gone, and even as he found himself staring at the dark figure gliding towards him, his eyes slid past the creature, and his ears no longer heard the shuddering intake of cold breath. His father was shouting, panicked words, a desperation to keep his family safe. And then his mother's cries, softer, but filled with determination, with a refusal to stand aside...
...Sirius, laughter frozen on his face, eyes shadowed and suddenly unseeing, a whisper of a veil moving to the side, welcoming him into the land of the dead...
...Dumbledore falling through the window, shattered glass hovering in the air as his dead body crumpled to the ground far below...
...McGonagall, expression twisted in agony, collapsing before him...
...his mother, one last final cry before a flash of green light...
Hannigan waved his wand idly at the vile creature before him, and the thing that brought nightmares and drove men insane faded away, scared by the remnants of happy memories. He considered himself lucky, he'd woken while the others were so distracted by the Headmistress' death that they did not even see him rise to his feet and call the Dementor to his side. The Boy Who Lived had fallen quickly, darkness taking him as he slid to the floor beside his precious Headmistress. The Auror had been easily overpowered by a single stunning spell to the chest.
In a way, it was almost anticlimactic. Grief was such an unusual emotion, it could either spurn someone to great fury, fueling their power and making them nearly unstoppable, or it could render them helpless as it wrapped around its victims soul. He had expected more of a fight from the three, but with Snape already down, and Potter too distraught to fend of the Dementor...
He walked over to Minerva McGonagall and stared down at her pale form. He had not wanted her death, but he had to console himself with the understanding that he could do nothing about it. She was a casualty of war, and there had been plenty of those. But now he had the Traitor Snape in his custody, and it was only a matter of time before the entire Ministry fell into his waiting palm.
His eyes Shacklebolt. The Auror was a traitor to his people, and so any attack against him was completely warranted. How could they trust someone who worked with Snape, who gave the Malfoys a second, third, and fourth chance? The thoughts ran through his mind, and already he began forming a speech, figuring out just what he would say to the masses who would flock to hear him speak. He could weave tales of Shacklebolt's treachery, he could tell legends of the corruption of power and greed. He smiled grimly, slowly.
But then there was the issue of Harry Potter. Unlike Runcorn and Yaxely, he had no desire to see the boy injured. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He knew how important Potter was to the people, to all those who looked upon him with something akin to hero-worship. But beyond that, there was the simple fact that Harry Potter was the Boy Who Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World, the Chosen One. Hannigan wanted power, wanted influence, wanted control. He did not want to have the blood of someone as righteous as Potter on his hands.
But he also knew that Potter would not just sit quietly by and let him take the Ministry. No, the boy would be an obstacle, and a significant one at that.
He could deal with that problem later. The first task at hand would be to take Snape to the Ministry. Jonathon Abbott would be all too easily manipulated into helping him garner the favor of the people. After Snape was committed to Azkaban, he could release information about Shacklebolt, and, if not have him arrested, than at least have him discredited. Maybe even sacked. Once that was done, there would be few left who could oppose him.
That thought in mind, he grabbed Snape by the arm, and the two of them disappeared, leaving a silent basement behind.
By the time Harry regained consciousness, the basement had become silent, almost overpoweringly calm. He blinked once or twice, rubbing his eyes with one hand in an attempt to focus his vision. His glasses had fallen by his body, apparently knocked askew when he collapsed. He reached for them, groping vaguely, while turning to squint at Kingsley's still form. As he slid the glasses back onto his nose and the basement came into focus around him, he noted that both Hannigan and Snape were gone.
He pulled himself to his feet, wobbling slightly. The dizziness came in full force, and only sheer force of will kept him upright. Taking a few unsteady steps, he managed to point his wand at Kingsley and wake the Head Auror from his magic-induced sleep.
"Harry?"
"I'm fine," Harry murmured, turning his gaze slightly so that his eyes fell on to Minerva McGonagall's lifeless body. "Headmistress isn't..." He stopped, lowered his head.
"Runcorn, Yaxely? Hannigan? Snape?" Kingsley sprung to his feet with a speed and agility that only partially masked the pain of his injuries. He grimaced slightly, but looked around the basement with a calculating gaze, before his expression fell to one of resigned defeat.
It was then that a silver otter appeared before them, and shrieked in Hermione's voice, "Where are you? You need to come back to the Burrow, now! Do not stop anywhere on your way." And then the Patronus faded, and Harry stared numbly at the spot it had stood and wondered what could have caused Hermione to become so panicked. But the questions could not be answered by standing around in the empty basement, so Kingsley levitated the Headmistress' body and, with Harry following slowly behind, climbed the rickety and rotting staircase out of the basement.
"The wards would have only allowed a specific few to enter or leave the manor by magical means," Kingsley murmured, "and so I doubt either of us will be able to Apparate from within the house. We need to get the gates, and then you should go to the Burrow, and I will take... Minerva... to the Ministry."
Harry instantly protested, remembering Hermione's worried tone, "Maybe you should come back to the Burrow as well. Hermione said not to stop anywhere on the way. She might have meant you as well."
They both argued the point as they wandered out of the manor and towards the elaborately-wrought gates, but neither had much energy or heat to their words, the body that floated between them was just one more thing that kept them silently second-guessing themselves.
Harry glanced up at the sun and wondered vaguely how long he had been unconscious. The position of the sun indicated that it was already mid-morning, a few hours after the fight had taken place. He was a little surprised, however, that their opponents had not returned to finish what they had started, but it was clear that he and Kingsley had been left alone and unharmed while they were unconscious.
"Alright, go to the Burrow, Harry and stay there until I come for you. Is that clear?" Kingsley asked, his tone becoming stern as he gave the younger wizard a direct order.
Harry nodded, all the fight seeming to have drained away with the Headmistress' death. He waited until Kingsley turned on the spot and was gone with a loud crack. Drawing a deep breath, he thought of Snape and wondered were the traitor was. But he had the strangest thought that he was going to discover the answer to that very soon. With those ideas in mind, he too turned around, spinning on the spot and disappearing from the gloomy manor and its Dark Magic-infused grounds.
"Oh, Harry!"
The noise was the first thing he noticed, followed quickly by the sudden weight of something colliding against him. A mop of messy brown hair was his only indication that it was Hermione currently wrapped around his torso as her face was buried so deeply into his shoulder that he could not even understand her muffled words beyond the initial greeting. Over her head, however, he was able to see Ron and Ginny, both looking incredibly relieved, and Mrs. Weasley, who was bustling back and forth with the air of someone who could not decide if she should fuss or berate the man standing before her. Percy lingered by the stairs, and Bill lounged on the sofa, his lanky frame sprawled out in an exhausted manner.
"What's going on? Why is everyone so worried?" Harry asked, carefully unwrapping Hermione's arms from around his body. He was not prepared for the amount of cacophonous shouting that met that simple question.
"Uh, I don't know if you've noticed this, mate, but rumor has it that you did disappear with a possible madman last night... and then were missing for several hours."
"Not to mention everything that's going on at the Ministry right now."
"Oh, Harry, I was so worried..."
"Mum, let go of him, you're going to smother him."
"I can't believe you actually went with Hannigan! Well, alright, I can believe it because you do tend to be reckless, but still... What were you thinking, Harry?"
"Dad's at the Ministry, trying to get a handle on what just happened, but..."
"Oh, Harry!"
"Mum, really, don't you think you're overreacting a little? He's fine."
Mrs. Weasley stepped back with a faint smile, brushing her hands against Harry's robes in an effort to wipe off a few specks of dust. "Of course, dear," she murmured, and she did look somewhat abashed by her display of emotion. But her eyes still glimmered with tears of relief and she gave him a watery smile.
"Things are in such an uproar right now," Ginny explained. Her tone was quiet, but her eyes were flashing with fury, and it was clear that whatever was happening at the Ministry, she was not pleased by it. In fact, he could not remember seeing her this furious since Umbridge's reign at Hogwarts. "I'm glad you are alright."
Harry swallowed nervously. He wasn't alright, not really, and sooner or later he would be forced to share news of McGonagall's death. In fact, the entire battle would need to be detailed, and he had no idea how they would respond to the fact that Snape had been fighting alongside him against Runcorn and Yaxely. He, himself, had no idea how he would even begin to wrap his head around that fact, it made no sense at all. Had he had the energy before, he might have demanded explanations from Kingsley, but now he was far too exhausted to consider that...
"What happened?" he asked wearily.
"Um... it's complicated. Maybe Percy should explain, he was there for most of it..." Hermione suggested tentatively.
To Harry's surprise, no one even thought to disagree with her statement. Even if Percy had been in the best position to give an accurate and complete recounting of what had transpired, someone would have quickly jumped in to tell their side of the story, as though it would somehow be different from his, and so it was the silence that gave Harry the first inkling of just how bad everything had somehow suddenly become.
"Hannigan came back to the Ministry," Percy said with a nervous shiver, dropping his gaze. "He had Snape with him. There were a lot of us still there, trying to figure out what to do now that the Ministry was dead, and... Hannigan came. He said that... that the Headmistress was dead..." Here he waited, slowly lifting his eyes to Harry, but when the younger boy did not contradict the statement, he swallowed uncomfortably and continued, blinking tears out of his eyes. "Killed by Snape."
"That's not true," Harry murmured, unable to stop himself. It might have been Snape's fault that she was dead, after all it had been his life she had saved with her reckless actions, but he had not been the one to cast the spell.
Percy paused again, but when Harry did not elaborate, he continued, "He claimed that Kingsley had abandoned us all, that he... he was with Snape... working with him. That he was just as much a traitor to us as Snape was, that it was just as much his fault the Headmistress is... gone."
"No one could possibly believe that," Harry hissed, outraged, ignoring the fact that only a few hours prior to that, he had accused Kingsley of much the same thing. But though he had been more than willing to toss about accusations in the heat of the moment, there had never been any doubt in his mind that Kingsley stood against the Death Eaters with ever fiber of his being. Anyone who had seen him fight during the last year of Voldemort's reign would know that he was not a supporter of the Dark Arts or pureblood ideology.
"They didn't," Percy answered, "not at first. But... he was clever. He didn't call Kingsley a traitor, not directly. He just... implied it. He said that Kingsley was making deals with the Malfoys - and we do know that that accusation is true. And he said that... that Kingsley was so caught up in retaining power that he didn't care who he made alliances with and... And he brought Snape to the Ministry, Harry. He delivered Snape's unconscious body to the Aurors, to be taken to Azkaban. After that... there were few who could possibly stand against him. He'd... he'd caught the last of the great Death Eaters..."
"People are afraid," Hermione said softly, shaking her head. "The end of the war didn't end all prejudices, and people... they're still looking for someone to blame. Snape, obviously, and the Malfoys... and now Kingsley."
"What are they going to do?" Harry asked with growing trepidation.
"It's not what they're going to do," Bill said heavily, shifting his lanky frame as he looked from Hermione to Harry. "It's what they've already done. Percy says that right before he left the Ministry to come back here, he heard Abbott put out a request for Kingsley's arrest. He's a "person if interest" now."
"No..." Harry whispered, horrified. "But... Kingsley... he went back to..."
"Kingsley's gone to the Ministry, hasn't he?" Hermione asked in a resigned tone. "It's already too late to stop it. He'll already be under arrest."
Harry closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Kingsley arriving with the transfiguration Mistress' body in tow. If Hannigan had been as successful as Percy claimed, if he had managed to poison the Ministry against their Head of Magical Law Enforcement, then Hermione was right; it was too late. Too late to stop Kingsley from walking right into a trap, walking into a mess from which he could not possible extricate himself. How long before he was sent to Azkaban? Was he there now? Would he even get a trial, or had they bypassed all those laws as well...?
Bill, however, faced the others with a determined expression and refused to join in their depressed thoughts. "No. It might be too late to prevent this, but it is not too late to fix it. We didn't fight a bloody war, we didn't lose friends and... and family... just to give up now." And if his voice trembled ever so slightly as he murmured the word family, if Mrs. Weasley quickly choked back a sob and Ginny wiped a hand over her eyes, no one commented on it.
"What happened, Harry? Maybe if we know more, we will be able to fix it..."
Harry slanted a look at his girlfriend. Ginny was standing in front of him, waiting expectantly, and even Percy seemed mildly interested in hearing the story. He opened his mouth, trying to find the right words, but then Minerva McGonagall's lifeless face drifted through his mind, her face twisted in pain and horror as the spell hit her, as she crumpled to the ground... And he had no idea how to explain it. How to tell them what it felt like when she died, or how time had seemed to stand still for that fraction of a second, as though the world had stopped spinning.
"I..." He stopped, shook his head.
"Harry? Why don't you just... start with the... smaller details," Hermione ventured, easily reading his expression and trying to guide him away from the obvious painful memories. At least for now. He would need to tell them eventually, if there was any hope of saving Kingsley, but... but for now she wanted to spare him that anguish. Or, at least, delay it.
"Yeah, mate," Ron agreed, catching the pointed glare Hermione sent his way, the indication that he was supposed to say or do something to ease the abrupt tension. "Like... uh, what exactly was Kingsley doing there?"
"I don't know," Harry murmured. Because he hadn't even bothered to ask, not after...
Grief made people do strange things. Sometimes it fueled anger, but right now... right now, he didn't feel much of anything at all.
"I don't know what exactly happened before I came," Harry said finally, "but I do know that Kingsley and Snape came together. They were both trying to fight Runcorn and Yaxely..."
In retrospect, he had no idea how any of it had truly slipped so far out of control. One moment, he was making plans to save the Headmistress' life, and the next moment,he was suddenly facing a furious mob of people who had supported him in the past, people who wanted his blood now.
Kingsley's eyes darted back and forth across the sea of faces, before falling upon Minerva's body. She was still floating, now lying on a stretcher he had conjured, but the effort required to keep her off the ground was quickly becoming far too much for him. He could not concentrate on anything at all, not while the screams of "traitor" and "murderer" filled the air, flung at him with increasing intensity.
Through the daze of confusion, he saw Hannigan standing in the back of the room. When their eyes met, the other man smirked, and Kingsley's first thought was to start screaming his own accusations.
But the spell hit him in the back, catching him by surprise, and he found himself falling to his knees as something akin to pure agony spread across his torso. He turned, twisting to look at his attacker. Abbott stood, tall and proud, wand held in front of him. There was fury in his eyes, and triumph glittering in his smile.
"Attacking a man from behind... that's low, Abbott. Even for you," Kingsley murmured, but made no move to draw his wand. He did not want to fight, although he would if he had to. But he was so outnumbered, and the crowd was pressing in from every side, and it was preposterous to think he would ever get out of this on his own.
"See! The Headmistress is dead, just like I told you! In his own desperate search for glory and power, Shacklebolt has ended the life of one our most beloved leaders! How many more will die before we force this corruption from our midst? How many lives must we lose?"
Hannigan's voice, a high-pitched frenzy, carried to him over the crowd, and he turned back to others, flushed red with anger. Everything he saw was tinted red, darkened by the grief-driven hatred that burned in his veins. "How dare you...?" he started, but his words were drowned by the stampede of feet that rushed towards him, skirting around Minerva's body, circling him tightly.
"I have brought you Severus Snape, the vile traitor none could find. I have shown you that good can truly triumph if we band together. Minister Diggory and Headmistress McGonagall gave their lives to protect us, and I demand that we not let those deaths be in vain!" Hannigan's shouts continued, unstoppable.
Kingsley faltered, surprised. Amos Diggory was dead? And Snape now in custody? That should not have surprised him, and yet it did. It did, because he had never imagined that the Minister could die, or that Hannigan could be this much of a threat. He had always been wary of the wizard, something he had expressed to Diggory on more than on occasion, and the Minister had agreed with him. But neither of them had ever supposed that this ambitious upstart could truly pose a serious threat to the stability of the world.
It seemed that he had been quite wrong. Hannigan was more than just a possible threat, he was the threat. He was poised to take the country, to let its leadership fall into his eagerly waiting hand, and there was very little anyone could do that would stop him. At this point, he had all but won.
Kingsley brought his wand upwards, ready to attack, but it was far too late.
He never stood a chance.
But even as his unconscious body collapsed under the combined weight of several stunning spells, another figure moved in the shadows, hidden from view, watching the proceedings with growing distaste. He had concealed himself with spells and a cloak, the hood pulled tightly over his white-blonde hair. In this crowd, the last thing he could afford to have happen would be to be spotted by someone who wished his family harm. And yet, while he knew that just being here was dangerous and probably incredibly stupid, he had not been able to drag himself away.
He had come shortly after hearing about the Minister's death, much to the chagrin of his mother who wanted him to stay safely within the confines of their manor. He had been there for a while now, long enough to see Hannigan arrive with Snape's body, to know that his one-time mentor and protector would be sent off to Azkaban to await the final punishment, the worst fate possible. A Dementor's Kiss. Long enough to hear Hannigan give another speaech about safety, about stopping corruption, about protecting this society that they all loved so much. Long enough to see Kingsley arrive, long enough to see the Headmistress' dead body, long enough to know that everything was falling apart before his very eyes.
Potter's presence at the battle that night might not have made any difference. In fact, if the rumors were correct, Potter had managed to find his way to that fight, not through any prior knowledge he might have had, but rather through the sudden decision to seize hold of Hannigan's hand as he disappeared. So really, given that information, the wizard reasoned, he could hardly be blamed for any of this. It was not his words that had lead to this outcome, not his words that had caused Potter to join the die and McGonagall to die.
And yet...
He had only wanted to protect his family, his mother. His mother, who had defied the Dark Lord by begging Snape for help. His mother, who had risked her life once again by telling the Dark Lord that Potter was dead in exchange for Potter's report that her son was alive and in the castle at Hogwarts. Was it so wrong of him to put her above all else? Wasn't that what family members were supposed to do? Protect each other?
And yet...
He slipped away noiselessly, ignored by those around him. His mind was filled with troublesome and turbulent thoughts, with questions he knew he would never truly be able to answer. He was still not entirely sure that anything he had done had been truly wrong, but it also hadn't really seemed to be right. In fact, right and wrong didn't make a whole lost of sense to him at the moment.
The only thing Draco Malfoy did know for certain was that he had some soul searching to do.