Title: All That Glitters
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, including the lines from The Lord of the Ring trilogy at the beginning of the chapter.
Author's note: I've had a few people ask about this, and although usually I don't like giving things away, I am going to say now that this story is most definitely not SS/HG. I don't have anything against the pairing, I just prefer to stay with canon in my own Harry Potter stories.
Summary: Hermione brings news to Harry and Ron, Runcorn makes a threat, and Snape remembers.
All that is gold does not glitter
Not all those who wander are lost
Chapter Two: Fire and Brimstone
He was laughing, and the sound that tore from his throat was manic and wild. The great gray thing at the end of the tunnel turned towards him, watching with crazed eyes. It's head lolled to one side, the tongue hanging loosely from the gaping jaws. Rows of yellow teeth emerged from red and pink gums.
"Snape, get out of here!"
Potter grabbed him by the arms and pulled him backwards, and they both stumbled on the dirt floor. The thing was getting closer, drawing near until he thought he could actually feel it's fetid breath on his face.
"No! Moony, no!" Potter was gone abruptly, and there was a stag standing there, in between him and the monster. The air was filled with dust and dirt and he couldn't see anything but the growling thing that loomed closer and closer with every passing moment.
Snape opened his eyes with a theatrical jerk. The blankets and sheets were strewn haphazardly across the floor and tangled about his limbs. He carefully extracted himself, fury and anger rising within him as he stood.
Even from beyond the grave, Black and Potter still managed to haunt him, mocking him with cruel reminders of his schoolboy years.
Harry held the fragment of parchment in one hand and stared at it, his eyes running over the words. Hermione sat curled up in the armchair, watching him with wary eyes. Ron was pacing, a nervous habit he had picked up to blow off excess energy during their years studying to be Aurors. Nobody spoke, but the tension in the room was heavy and thick.
Finally, Harry spoke. "The dragon and the bat?"
"I know what you are thinking, Harry, and I wondered it too," Hermione said softly. "But the Malfoys all swore under truth potion that they did not know where Snape was."
"Can a truth poison be tricked?" Harry asked, although it was a rhetorical question. They all knew of antidotes that could be administered preemptively, and it was even rumored that the same techniques employed during the use of Occlumency or while fighting Imperio could be used to fight the effects of a truth potion.
"Snape is a potions Master," Ron added with a snarl. "He'd easily be able to brew a potion for them."
Hermione pursed her lips and frowned, then said thoughtfully, "The Malfoys were only asked this question during their trial, weren't they?" Harry and Ron both looked at her, and she shrugged. "Then it's possible that they weren't lying. Maybe they really didn't know where Snape was."
"But it's been three years since the trial," Harry said, realization dawning. "Snape may have contacted them afterwards…" He crumpled the parchment in his hand, anger coursing through his veins. "Why did we ever trust them?" he spat, exploding with rage. "Why?"
"Because we believed they deserved a second chance, mate," Ron answered, his voice unnaturally solemn and soft. All thoughts of studying for the exams were gone now, replaced by this new problem. He paused in his pacing and turned to Hermione. "I always said poisonous toadstools don't change their spots."
Hermione nodded reluctantly. She had always wanted to believe the best of the Slytherins, always wanted to seek out whatever good qualities they might have. But Snape's betrayal had taught her that not everyone will come for redemption, and she couldn't help but wonder now is Ron wasn't completely right.
"Second chances," Harry snort. "Fat lot of help they were to Dumbledore."
"So what now?" Ron asked. "How do we find him?" He hesitated, then asked, "You aren't possibly thinking of handing that parchment over to the Aurors, are you?"
An elite group of Aurors, known as the Magi, had been tasked with tracking down the last of the escaped Death Eaters. Severus Snape's name had been on their list for three years, and all leads on his whereabouts were supposed to be reported to them. But so far the Magi had been unsuccessful, and Harry thought them practically incompetent.
"Of course not," Harry snapped disdainfully. "I say we talk to Malfoy ourselves."
"And what?" Hermione cut in, ever the voice of reason. "Beat the answer out of him?" Harry didn't seem to disapprove of this idea, and she gave a little sigh of annoyance before bringing up a different concern. "I think we need to wonder also about why this note was given to me."
"Someone else wants Snape caught also," Harry answered as thought it was obvious. He glanced beyond Hermione at the far window. The sun was slowly rising over the horizon. How long had they been talking about this? Was it really almost morning?
"Then why didn't they go to the Magi directly?" Hermione pressed. "If they know that Snape is in contact with the Malfoys, why didn't they just report it?"
"Maybe they're afraid of the consequences," Ron suggested. "If Snape found out, he'd kill them… or worse."
"They could have left an anonymous tip," Hermione countered. She faltered slightly as both Ron and Harry glared at her, but refused to back down. "Just think about it, Harry," she begged, almost desperately. "Why didn't they come to us directly? Why did the note have to be so cryptic? Why the cloak and dagger routine? It just doesn't make sense!"
"Who cares?" Harry retorted.
"What if this isn't real, Harry? What if it is just a ploy to get the Malfoys in trouble?" Hermione asked. One look at Harry's face, and she knew that he didn't understand. As far as he was concerned, whoever left this note was to be trusted implicitly and the Malfoys were, by consequence, still traitors and turncoats.
Predictably, Harry replied, "What if it isn't? Who says the Malfoys can be trusted?"
"Narcissa Malfoy saved your life," Hermione shot back.
Harry gave a dismissive wave. "Only because she was worried about her son. She didn't care about the rest of the world, just Draco."
Hermione turned pleading eyes towards her fiancé, praying that he would understand. "I just don't think it is safe to run off on some crazy scheme just because of an anonymous note."
Ron glanced between Hermione and Harry, torn. He wanted Snape brought to justice just as much as his best mate did. He'd never trusted the potions Master, not even when Hermione repeated again and again that they should because Dumbledore did. But Hermione did have a point. They'd lost friends during the war, and he wasn't willing to risk losing another. They needed to find Snape, but they needed to proceed with caution as well.
"Ron?" Harry prompted.
Ron shook his head. "I… I don't know, mate."
"So what now?" Harry asked in exasperation. "What are we supposed to do? Just let him get away with it? He murdered Dumbledore, he betrayed all of us and you want to do nothing?" His voice was rising with each word he spoke until he was almost shouting with pent up frustration.
"Dad said that people at the Ministry are still watching the Malfoys," Ron said suddenly, inspiration coming to mind. "I think Kingsley is one of them. We could ask him if any of the Malfoys have been acting suspiciously."
Harry considered this carefully. He knew that Kingsley could be trusted, and they would at least be able to do something productive. He glanced at Hermione, who appeared pleased with the idea, and finally gave his own consent.
"Fine. We talk to Kingsley."
"Uh… what about our exams?" Ron questioned.
Harry looked at him disbelievingly. "What about them?" he demanded. "This is Snape." He stormed out of the room and into his own bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him.
Hermione and Ron exchanged a brief look, then Hermione stood as well. "I should probably go also…" she said apologetically, feeling a little guilty to leave Ron alone with an irate Harry. "It's almost morning."
Ron just shrugged. He didn't even bother attempting to convince Hermione to spend the rest of the night with him, he was too caught up in everything they had just discovered and everything it would mean for their future. Harry's behavior, although not surprising, was hardly comforting. The search for the Horcruxes had taught Harry the importance of thinking before acting, of curbing his reckless tendencies and controlling his temper, but Snape still managed to bring out the worst in his friend.
"I'll come back tomorrow during the day," Hermione offered hesitantly. "We can… get coffee or… have tea?"
Ron managed an actual smile for her. "I'd like that," he agreed, and Hermione Disapparated and was gone.
"It was a very foolish idea to see Severus," Lucius murmured under his breath to Narcissa as he moved past her through the arching entry way and into the garden. The hot afternoon sun beat down on them, casting shadows across the grounds.
Narcissa followed her husband onto the patio and glanced around. The garden was always her favorite part of the house. It was filled with mostly white and pale pink or blue flowers that cascaded over the sloped ground like rushing water. Occasionally, the pale colors were punctuated by sudden bursts of crimson red and dark green, reminders of Christmas, or of drops of blood on grass.
"I wanted to see him," Narcissa hissed back venomously.
Their conversation was interrupted by the other guests who spilled out into the garden behind them. Narcissa had agreed to entertain several of Lucius' associates from the Ministry with a garden party. She was less than pleased with having to play hostess to people they would never have associated with before the war, but times had changed, and they needed to ingratiate themselves with the Mudbloods and Muggle lovers currently in power.
"Mrs. Malfoy, this is quite lovely," came the cool voice of Minerva McGonagall. The current Headmistress of Hogwarts gave a polite and civil smile, but her eyes lacked any warmth or sincerity. She would not have been here had it been at all possible for her to stay away, but the Malfoy's wealth allowed them to retain their influence at the school, and it would not have been prudent to snub them by turning down the invitation.
Of course, the Malfoys were just as displeased with her presence as she was. Neither of them wanted her here.
"Thank you, Headmistress," Narcissa replied calmly, flashing an icy smile. Behind Professor McGonagall, her eyes connected with another guest, and she gave a slight start of surprise. Covering quickly, she said, "Excuse me," and slipped past the other woman.
Narcissa paused in front of the new guest and stared at him, eyes narrowed. Taking him by the hand, she lead him back into the house, away from the curious gaze of the other guests. She knew his appearance would be talked about in her absence, and they would all want to know why he was here. But right now, she just wanted to get rid of him.
"Well, well, well… Narcissa Malfoy," the man drawled in a low tone. "I see you and your husband have gone down in the world, entertaining people like these."
"Mr. Runcorn, I don't believe I saw your name on the guest list," Narcissa said sweetly, refusing to take his bait. She paused just inside the door, away from the garden. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a few sets of eyes turned her way. Obviously, her association with Runcorn would spread like wildfire through the Ministry tomorrow, and it would confirm what everyone suspected about her and her husband; that they were still blood purists and Death Eaters at heart.
Let them talk, she decided savagely. Let the rumors fly. No one would ever be able to prove anything.
"You really think you can convince the world that you've had a change of heart?" Runcorn hissed. "You may present an acceptable face to the rest of society, but I know what you and your husband are like underneath it all."
"Do you now?" Narcissa asked, raising one eyebrow questioningly.
"You work very hard to ingratiate yourselves with Mudbloods and Blood Traitors, don't you?" Runcorn sneered. "Have you no self-respect?"
Narcissa answered haughtily, "And you, Runcorn? What did you use to buy your way out of Azkaban? I've no doubt you must have begged the Mudbloods as well."
Runcorn flushed a dark crimson and barred his teeth at her. "You disgust me," he snarled. "You destroyed us. You betrayed the Dark Lord. He could have given you everything, and instead you sold him out. You lied…"
"Do you expect me to declare my undying regret for that?" Narcissa asked mockingly.
"Watch your back, Narcissa," Runcorn snapped.
"Is that a threat?" Narcissa asked, unafraid.
"Consider it a warning," Runcorn answered menacingly. "You've got a lot of enemies out there, and I'd hate for anything to happen to that pretty little neck of yours."
"How very vulgar," Narcissa drawled. "Sometimes your unoriginality still manages to surprise me." She paused, then added, "Although most of the time it just bores me."
"Brave words, Narcissa" Runcorn said softly, his voice no less vicious despite its decrease in volume. "But don't forget you have enemies."
"You do not scare me," Narcissa said hotly, her face now flushed with the tiniest tint of pink. Her eyes flashed dangerously, her calm demeanor still fighting for control over her temper.
"Don't I?" Runcorn murmured. "I wonder if I scare young Draco, hmm?" Before Narcissa could answer, he turned and walked away.
Narcissa watched him go for a moment, her heart beating frantically in her chest. She closed her eyes momentarily, drawing a deep breath. The remaining few still loyal to the Dark Lord, at least those who had escaped Azkaban, viewed her as the vilest of traitors. It had not taken them long to realize that when she had leaned over Harry Potter in that dimly lit forest and checked to see if he was alive, her answer to the Dark Lord had been a lie.
She heard the footsteps behind her, but did not turn around. A hand fell on her shoulder, and her husband's voice said in a low whisper, "We have enemies all around, Narcissa. We must worry about ourselves first, not Severus. He can take care of himself."
Narcissa spun around and glared at Lucius. "Maybe you can so easily give up on the man who kept our son alive," she retorted in a growl, "but I cannot." She tried to walk past him, but Lucius caught her arm, stopping her.
"This is not a good time to take these risks," he snapped heatedly.
"There is never a good time," Narcissa answered quietly. "But I am not afraid of Runcorn, and I am not afraid of this Ministry." She turned and ducked back under the arch, stepping out to join their guests.
Malfoy watched her go, an odd expression on his face. At Hogwarts, Narcissa had never been a passionate girl. She was quiet and calm and icy, her untouchable façade heightened by her cool beauty. When they had married, no one had mentioned the word love. She could play the perfect wife and he could act the gentlemanly husband, but there was never any doubt in either of their minds that the marriage was more of a business arrangement than anything else. They had the same principles, the same desires, and the same goals.
She had married him for his money and his social standing; he had married her for the trophy wife she would undoubtedly become.
Nothing was supposed to get in the way of their ambition. Nothing was supposed to stop them from climbing the rungs of the societal ladder. Nothing.
And then Draco was born.
It had changed them both, having a child. It had brought them together and driven them apart, and in the end, neither was the same person they had been before his birth. Sometimes he no longer recognized his wife. He could stare into those light eyes, he could hear the recognizable voice, feel the familiar feather-light touch of her fingers resting on his arm, and yet somehow he was still looking at a stranger.
He walked outside to join the others. Narcissa was speaking quietly with an Auror he recognized as Dawlish. She looked at him, and he held her gaze for a beat, then looked away.
Severus Snape fingered the collar of his black robes and glanced around the circular office. The portraits of the Headmasters were all sleeping, save for the sapphire-eyed Albus Dumbledore who seemed perpetually awake. He was watching Snape with a twinkle in his eyes, but the rest of his expression was serious.
"It's the Greeting Feast, Severus," the portrait said. "Try not to look so nervous."
Snape glared at the painting and replied in a harsh voice, "Why not? I'm attending my own funeral today."
"Perhaps you exaggerate a little?" Dumbledore suggested with a half-smile. But Snape did not smile in return. Dumbledore sighed and said sternly, "You must remain in Voldemort's good graces."
Snape shuddered slightly at the name of the Dark Lord, but nodded. "I know," he said grimly and with a touch of annoyance. He had been reminded of this on several occasions, but it was much easier said than done. Did the Headmaster really think that he wasn't putting any effort into this farce?
"The school is counting on you. The students, the world… they need you," Dumbledore continued, pressing the point. "I am counting on you, too."
Snape snorted. "Of course," he drawled. "Have you ever let me forget that?"
Before the portrait could answer, there was a knock on the door to the office. Snape turned, dreading who and what he would find. Swallowing his fears and forcing a mask of cool indifference to appear on his face, he watched as the door swung open.
It was Hagrid. The Keeper of the Keys heavy bulk completely blocked the door as he stared with pure loathing at Snape. His voice was loud, practically bellowing with fury, as he said, "The students have arrived. Professor McGonagall is waitin' the Sorting for you, Headmaster." He filled the title with as much anger and disgust as possible.
"I will be down in a moment," Snape directed in a smooth voice. Inwardly, he marveled at Hagrid's anger. Although the half-giant had certainly always had a size-advantage over the other professors, he had never been anyone to be afraid of. All bark and no bite. Now Snape found himself instinctively tightening his fingers around his wand.
Just in case.
"Yes, sir."
As Hagrid left the room, Snape looked back at the portraits. They would kill him on sight, he thought. Only the possibility of Voldemort's wrath kept the other professors from hexing him.
Why was he doing this, he wondered. Why risk everything over and over for a world that would never see him as anything other than a traitor? He walked to the door, anger simmering below the surface. Today was the beginning of a charade he would play until the end of the battle. And why? For what?
"Severus," Dumbledore said gently, calling his attention. Snape turned back to him, and for a moment the two sets of eyes, one blue and one black, met each other.
"What?" Snape asked at last, bitterness creeping into his tone. "Last words of advice before I walk to my own hanging?"
But Dumbledore, as though he could read Snape's mind, see right through his anger to the questions that lingered underneath, said simply, "For Lily."
Always only for Lily.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you it was impolite to stare?"
Snape started at the unwelcome voice and stared coldly at the mirror. He had been staring a this own reflection, lost in his thoughts, and he did not appreciate the mirror's callous timing.
"Of all the things Lucius and Narcissa had to put in this house…" he muttered under his breath, turning away, "…a talking mirror. Why?"
"Perhaps if you got to know me…" the mirror suggested in a wounded voice, "you might like me better."
Snape didn't even deign to respond.
"You know, I can be good company," the mirror continued, ignoring Snape's scowls. "Give you someone to talk to, someone who will listen to you."
Snape spun around with an incredulous look on his face. "I don't believe I will waste time speaking with an inanimate object, thank you," he said coldly.
"I am very animate, thank you," the mirror shot back, "and it is certainly better to talk to me than to wander about talking to yourself instead!"
Snape opened his mouth to reply that he didn't talk to himself, and then the absurdity of the entire situation dawned on him and he glowered in silence. Turning on his heal, he walked away, his long dark cloak billowing out after him.
The mirror, determined to have the last word, called out, "Anyway, if you spent more time in front of the mirror it might do you some good. You might actually start paying attention to that hair of yours."
In a rare display of incredibly well controlled wandless magic, Snape flicked his wrist at the mirror, causing it to shatter down the center. He left the room, slamming the door shut behind him with an echoing bang.
"Hmph," the mirror said haughtily. "Someone has a temper."