Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: So this chapter takes a slight detour and focuses on Narcissa and Draco Malfoy. We will get back to Snape and Harry soon enough, but this chapter is necessary for how the story is going.

Summary: While Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy both try to deal with the past events in their own way, it is Draco Malfoy's actions, and new-found knowledge, that just might bring the entire world to a screeching halt.

Chapter Twenty: Pride and Fury

She knew even before the news reached her what she was going to hear. It was not too difficult to guess just how quickly this world could turn on itself - she'd seen it happen many times before. The irony, of course, was that no one ever seemed to learn from their past mistakes. Jonathon Abbott was setting himself up to be the next Barty Crouch, and Hannigan had easily become the next Cornelius Fudge. Men too obsessed with power to pay attention to things such as morals and common decency.

She'd seen her fair share of that among the Death Eaters as well, her sister being the prime example. But Bellatrix, for all her evil intentions, at least never pretended to be anything other than what she was. Narcissa Malfoy had spent far too much time watching her every single move, learning how to act in the presence of different people from different types of society. She admired Bella for her honesty, brutal though it was. The subtlety of maneuvering through high society was troublesome... and, at times, down right hypocritical.

But people pursued power if different ways, and she knew exactly how men like Abbott planned to seized and maintain their influence.

So it came as no surprise when Draco pushed open the door to the study, slipped into the room, and announced quietly, "Snape is in prison. And so in Shacklebolt. Hannigan and Abbott are behind it."

A man like Shacklebolt was far too honest, too decent, to realize that sometimes it was not worth it to give other people second chances. He had treated her family fairly, and without an excessive amount of disrespect, and for that she had to grudgingly admit that she admired him. But it was also clear that he could easily be manipulated by those with far less scruples than he.

She walked over to the window and stared out at the garden below. It would only be a matter of time before they came for her, and she wished fervently that Lucius was there. But he was off attending to some business, and by the time he learned of what had happened, the Aurors might already be knocking at their gates, ready for the arrest. She debated sending a Patronus to her husband, but if anyone discovered that she had done that, they would wonder about the communication, and think up some horrible belief about a plot or plan they had devised. It would only get her - and Draco - in even more trouble, and she refused to risk her son's life.

She knew the type of people she was up against.

"If they come for us," Narcissa said finally, "I want you to go straight to Severus' cabin. You will stay there."

"What about you, Mother?"

She turned, a faint smile on her lips. "You will do as I tell you, Draco," she said firmly, her tone implying just how serious she was.

Draco stared bluntly back at her, but did not argue. She sighed, letting out the slow exhale with a feeling of foreboding. Only a few years ago, Draco had defied all of her instructions in an attempt to carry out the Dark Lord's bidding, and it was only her intervention with Severus that had saved his life. But now he did not even bother to disagree with her, and she could not help but wonder why.

Of course, she had a suspicion that she might already know some of the answer. She remembered, with astounding clarity, what it had been like to step out into the afternoon light and find her son conversing with Potter. She had wondered at the time what they could have possibly been speaking about, but now it seemed as though the answer might lie before, hidden in the recent actions of the Ministry. She doubted Potter would have willingly helped Hannigan or Abbott, but still... He could have easily been manipulated into helping them without realizing what he was doing.

For all that he had done, and it was quite a lot, Potter was still such a child. Those who wore their hearts on their sleeves only ever found that the enemy had an easier time ripping it out.

She had learned that one the hard way as well. She did not show her emotions openly now, but that did not stop the very wise from guessing at them. Severus, more than any of the others, had seemed best able to determine what she was thinking behind her unfeeling mask.

And now he was in Azkaban.

She wanted to help him, she truly did. But how? The name Malfoy no longer carried the same type of power, and it was doubtful that she could do much more than wish him luck and offer a prayer for his safety. But how could she just leave him there?

"Mother?"

She turned pale eyes towards her son once more. "Yes, Draco?"

He gave a little shrug. "What happens now?"

She sat on the edge of the bathtub, her feet resting on the tile floor. Lucius had gone to a party that evening, but she had claimed illness and had not joined him. That, she knew, was quite unusual, she had always been a social butterfly, eager to flit from one party to another. At Lucius' semi-concerned questioning, she had simply called it a migraine and waved him away, and he had obeyed. She loved him because of the power that was attached to his name, he loved her because of the prestige that came with having a beautiful trophy wife on his arm. But he left the house and did not look back because, really, what did it matter? She would be fine.

She had forced all the house elves away, hoping to gain some much needed privacy. She had been having painful cramps for a week already, and she knew what that most likely meant.

So it came as no surprise when the white fabric of her nightgown turned red with blood and she stared unemotionally at the remnants of what might have been a child.

Another miscarriage.

There was no potion for it, and she could not figure out why. Shouldn't the magical community have long since discovered a way to treat problems of infertility? But they had not, and this was one more failed attempt for the heir that Lucius so desperately wanted.

She rose shakily to her feet, resting one hand on the wall, feeling the smooth wood run beneath her fingers.

She needed a child. Her sister... well, ex-sister really, as her parents had made it very clear that they did not want anything to do with Andromeda... already had a child. Granted, she had been married for much longer, but still... how would it look if the only Black child was born to a blood traitor? And besides, Lucius was the only Malfoy, and so it was up to him, and therefore up to her, to carry on his family name.

She needed a son. A little Malfoy heir. These were dark and dangerous times to bring a child into the world, but she had no doubt that her husband's name and her family's good standing with the Dark Lord could keep them all safe, if only she could produce the necessary outcome. When the Ministry finally fell and the Dark Lord took his rightful place as supreme ruler, how would she be able to face the world if she were still barren? How would the Malfoy's retain any of their prestige if she could not complete this one, simple task?

It was a practical matter, she told herself, and nothing more. She cleaned the blood, erasing the stains so that no one, not even the house elves, would guess at what had just befallen her. Again. They would try again, and perhaps this next time it would work out for her. She drew a breath and kept that thought firmly in mind as she walked towards the door.

A little over a year later, as she lay in bed, covered with sweat and holding the beautiful baby before her with a sense of pride and accomplishment, she found herself surprised by the other emotions that flared around her hardened heart. Lucius was ecstatic, and already the Daily Prophet carried the announcement of her success. Soon the entire world would know that she had produced a son. So then, why was she feeling just the slightest bit of concern, of worry? She had a son, and what else could possibly matter? But this feeling, hot and heavy, that settled in her stomach...

She passed young Draco to his father and watched as Lucius took his son from the room to present him to all those who waited in the parlor on the floor below. In the silence that fell, she turned her analytical mind to the confusing puzzle she faced, and tried to tear apart each aspect of this strange emotion...

Was this what it felt like to love a child?

The idea caught her by surprise, and even as she tried to dismiss it as just some fantasy, she could not quite rid herself of the growing unease. She was not supposed to love her child. She was supposed to care for him, protect him, raise him to be just like his father. He was yet another hurdle she had overcome, another stepping-stone to societal success. She was supposed to love him because of that, because he carried her husband's name, because he was the future of their family. Not for any other reason.

And yet...

Narcissa forced a smile to her lips as she looked upon her son. "I will do what I can to help this family. And Severus. But you must stay out of danger."

"I want to help," he murmured, and she saw something akin to guilt flickering in his eyes.

She stepped away from him, from the window, and crossed to the other side of the room. The door was still firmly closed, cutting them off from the rest of the house. Although she doubted that anyone in their household would betray them - the house elves being far too loyal now that they no longer had Dobby, and the portraits mostly pure-bloods who shared their sentiments - it still reassured her that no one could be privy to her thoughts or interactions in this closed room.

"You cannot help, Draco," she said finally.

Because, in all reality, he simply could not do anything to change the situation. She was most likely powerless as well, and whatever came of that... Well, she would not let harm befall her son.

"But..."

"I am not a fool," she said sharply, twisting to face him with a sudden glare. "Do you really think I do not know why you want to help? It is not so hard, Draco, to see that you had a hand in this. Whatever you told Potter that day, whatever deal you made with him..." She trailed off, the anger fading just as quickly as it had come. She doubted her own parents ever saw her as more than a means to an end. And she had been quite good and what she had set out to do, snaring Lucius and marrying into such wealth. She had made them proud because she had helped take the Black family name to even greater heights. But she had little experience with parenting, having never really experienced it. How could she explain to her son that she could not anything happen to him when she could barely put the explanation into words for herself? Even after all these years, that sensation of love still managed to catch her by surprise, to completely baffle her mind.

Draco had dropped his gaze, embarrassed.

"You did what you did," she said softly. "You cannot undo it. We will move forward. But you are in no position to help us. I..." She faltered, shook her head, looked away.

Draco swallowed uneasily, and she could see the frustration in his eyes. Now she was not so sure that he would listen to her, when only moments before she had been convinced that he had accepted her orders. But as he walked from the room, she found herself restless with concern.

What would he do now?

What was she supposed to do now?

He appeared in Knockturn Alley, half-hidden by shadows. A stray cat looked up sharply, studying him with luminescent green eyes. He walked past the cat without even sparing a single glance for the scrawny creature. His footsteps echoed loudly in the silence, but did not bother trying to move with any stealth. He had no doubt that there were several people here who wished him harm, but he also knew they would not attack him openly. For all their bluster about despising the Malfoys, most of the Voldemort supporters left did not have the courage of the guts to make anything more than snide remarks and verbal threats.

The alley was falling into disrepair. It was now rarely frequented by its once-powerful customers, most of whom were either dead or in prison. Aurors came by often to search the premises of various buildings or to confiscate Dark potions, artifacts, and books. When Voldemort had ruled, the alley had been a hub of bustling activity, a place that offered promise for people eager to prove their worth in the new order. Now...

Now it was little more than a slum.

The boy paused in front of the doors to one of the more famous establishments. Despite the hard times that had fallen on the rest of Knockturn Alley, Borgin and Burkes still managed to thrive.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The two men in the shop turned and looked at him, surprised by his presence. Mr. Borgin, the oily owner, recovered quickly and gave a smooth smile, eyes glittering. The other man seemed more disturbed by the boy's presence, and asked sharply, "Draco? What are you doing here?"

"May we talk, Father?" Draco asked in reply, his eyes moving to Mr. Borgin and silently asking the implied question, the request for privacy.

"Let me get those ingredients for you," Mr. Borgin muttered as he stepped away from the father and son. "I'll be back in a moment." And he left the two alone in the front room of the shop.

Lucius Malfoy seized his son's arm and pulled him back towards the door. In a low voice, he snarled, "What are you doing here, Draco?"

Draco wrenched his arm from his father's grip and replied fiercely, "Snape has been arrested. So has Shacklebolt. Hannigan is going to be made the next Minister! Mother thinks..." But before he could finish the sentence, Lucius had whipped around, turning away from his son and staring about the shop as though trying to convince himself that they were, in fact, alone. He relaxed slightly when no Aurors sprung from the woodwork to arrest him. But the apprehension in his pale eyes did not quite disappear as he looked back at Draco.

"Is your mother still at home?"

"Yes."

"I want you to go to the cottage," Lucius said in a low voice, his words barely audible. "Where Snape lived. You will be safe there."

Draco almost snorted in disbelief. "Mother requested the same," he muttered sullenly. "I'm not a child, Father. I do not need to..."

"You may not be a child," Lucius interrupted coolly, "but you are still thinking like one if you believe that there is any other option. Do not question me. Just go."

"They haven't come for us yet!"

There was no sympathy, no doubt, not understanding in the granite eyes that stared back at him. Nothing but absolute certainty. "They will," Lucius said.

Draco felt himself begin to smolder with rage at the way his parents were acting, as though he was too young to fully comprehend what was happening all around him. But his father was being a fool too, he reflected, by continuing to patronize this shop even now, even when they were under such scrutiny. The anger began to flare as he thought of his mother, alone in their manor, worried about the safety of her husband and her son, while his father pranced around the darker parts of London, making deals and doing business with the very people that could bring ruin upon them all.

"Then why give them more rope with which to hang you?" he sneered at his father, gesturing with one hand to the rest of the shop.

Lucius answered in a hiss, "One day you will understand, Draco. Leopards do not change their spots. Not completely. And a Malfoy does not either." He moved away, back towards Borgin, who had appeared once more in the room. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a small leather bag and tossed it on the counter before him, letting the sound of clinking coins rattle in the cold air. "Thank you," he said shortly, coolly, as Borgin pushed a satchel towards him. He lifted the satchel and slid it into the voluminous pockets of his robes.

Mr. Borgin bowed them from the shop, his face twisted into a thin sneer as he watched them go.

In the cool air outside the shop, Lucius stopped and drew a breath. He looked at his son, who was still silently fuming.

"Go, Draco," he said harshly. "Your mother will be joining you soon enough."

Draco complied ungracefully, turning on the spot and disappearing.

The dingy hovel in which he reappeared was completely empty. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust and filth and cobwebs. No fire crackled in the empty grate, no warmth spread through the small room. It was barren and tiny and silent and...

The glass in the cupboard shattered, spinning out haphazardly through space. It hovered, hesitating for the briefest moment, before plummeting to the ground, bouncing harmlessly off the floor and breaking into even smaller shards. The two chairs next to the table began to wobble slightly, and the air became heavy with crackling energy and pent-up rage. It took Draco a moment to get his emotions under control, to stop the wandless magic that threatened to ruin everything around him. But even as the chairs stopped teetering back and forth and the fragments of glass ceased their endless spinning, he still felt his heart hammering in his chest, a heavy thud repeating against his ribcage.

He leaned back against the wall, his body slumping forward until he had slid into a sitting position.

A Malfoy does not change, not completely.

He'd known that, of course, just like he'd known that his father continued some of his less-than-tasteful business, interacted with some less-than-upstanding characters. Lucius Malfoy was nothing if not resilient, and he had managed to find his way through every single obstacle placed before him, and he had done it without sacrificing his penchant for the Dark Arts. And what else could have been expected from a man who had been raised to believe that he was better than pretty much everyone else, based solely on the family name he carried?

But now that everything had suddenly gone so wrong... how could he still engage in these practices, knowingly putting his family in even more danger.

And yet, how could he not?

A Malfoy does not change, not completely.

"What makes something Dark?" Draco muttered allowed. "Is what my father doing any different from what anyone else seeking power might have done? Certainly, they might call Fudge an arrogant fool, or Abbott a revenge-driven idiot. But people like that are never called Dark. Why not? What is so different, so much better, about seeking power that way?" Dark magic was what they all had known, along with societal maneuvering and bribery. Was it any wonder that his father would revert to this methods in such uncertain times?

The world was not divided into good people and Death Eaters, but the terminology used to discuss magic was still based on that very divide.

And yet... when every action he did put his family in danger, how could Lucius justify any of it...?

Draco rubbed his forehead with one hand as the anger faded into frustration and worry. He was alone, helpless, seeking refuge in Severus Snape's cottage, hiding from a world that would soon want his dead.

He could not stay here. His pride would not let him hide while others were in danger, while his mother risked her life for him again. His wrath would not allow him to run like a coward from the world, no matter how much they might despise him. He had to do something. Anything.

He did not believe anything Abbott or Hannigan had said, did not believe that Shacklebolt was guilty of whatever crimes they had thrown at him, did not believe that Snape had killed the Headmistress. Whatever had happened the previous night, there was only one other person who might have insights, who might be able to help him.

The question that remained, then, was did he have it in him to swallow his pride and seek out Harry Potter?

He rose to his feet and walked through the kitchen into the small sitting room. The room was just as bare as the kitchen, just as dirty and dingy. He knew his mother would have a fit if she saw the place like this, but Snape had never really cared about cleaning, and so often it had been left alone for weeks at a time. Until, of course, his mother showed up with her house elf and insisted on not leaving until the place looked spotless.

He had heard from his mother that Snape had never been thrilled about those visits.

He had heard many things from his mother about Snape. He often wondered why the man had switched sides, why he had gone to such extraordinary lengths to gain the Dark Lord's trust, just to throw it back in his face at the last second. He remembered the flash of green light, the way Dumbledore's body had hovered, suspended in midair, before crashing to the ground far below. He remembered Snape's gloating laughter when the Dark Lord had rewarded him by making Headmaster of Hogwarts. He remembered his gleeful pleasure at assigning detentions to Gryffindors for no particular reason, for confiscating wands and allowing the Carrows full control over punishments.

He remembered when his mother had informed him in a shaky tone that Severus Snape was not a true Death Eater, that he had saved her life twice during the final battle, and protected Lucius as well, keeping them safe from the wrath of their "friends" who had soon realized that Narcissa had lied about Potter being dead.

As he slowly contemplated the complexities of Snape's character, he let his eyes wander the room, taking in each piece of furniture until...

Until the glimmer of silver light caught his attention, and he crossed the room to find a Pensieve, full of memories, lying innocuously in a half-closed cabinet.
He looked around hurriedly, almost expecting to be caught. Expecting Snape to come storming into the room, furious that Draco had even considered invading his privacy.

But Snape was in Azkaban. He was not here, could not be here.

And there the memories sat, tempting him.

On a whim, emboldened by a courage and recklessness that, though he would never admit to it, reminded him a little bit too much of Gryffindor, he leaned forward, and sent himself falling into the memories, eager to see what he might learn.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled himself from the memories and collapsed into a shaking heap on the floor, unable to believe.