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.
Summary: Life was like walking a tightrope. One misstep in either direction, and everything came tumbling down.
All that is gold does not glitter
Not all those who wander are lost
Chapter Four: Like Walking a Tightrope
Penelope Clearwater gathered the last of her belongings together and stuffed them into her bag. She was eager to escape from the hospital today, and she knew perfectly well that if she stayed around any longer, she would invariably be roped into helping with some unpleasant chore.
She was glad that the Healer trainees had already finished their exams. Usually, she would have the annoying chore of watching over some overexcited student who thought he or she could invent a new potion to solve all the world's problems. These idealistic tendencies never ended well, and she often wondered if she herself had been just an frustrating and insipid during her trainings.
As if on cue, however, Margaret Smyth, head of the Healer Training Program appeared in front of her, a smile plastered to her usually stern face. "Ms. Clearwater, just the witch I was looking for," the woman said. Her graying hair was pulled back into a stiff bun and her blue-gray eyes were framed by heavy spectacles. She was a stern woman, and Penelope knew better than to cross her.
"How can I help you, Healer Smyth?" Penelope asked politely.
"We've just finished grading most of our students' exams," the Head Healer replied with an air of someone who finds this particular aspect of their job undeniably boring. "Some of the newer recruits are showing promise."
Penelope nodded wordlessly. A few years ago, she had been one of those recruits who showed promise, and she had a good idea of where this was heading. Healer training was, understandably, a rigorous and extensive course, and very few people succeeded. For anyone who might successfully complete the entire training, the Program set up shadowing opportunities for the summer months. Students would follow one f the younger Healers around, doing their best to learn whatever they could, so that they would be even more prepared for the coming years.
"I would like you to participate in the summer shadowing this year," Healer Smyth continued. "You have shown skill and promise and dedication, which are all attributes you will need to impart to your student."
"Of course," Penelope said. She knew that it was an honor to be picked for this, it meant that the Head Healer believed her to be uncommonly skilled for her age and experience level, it was still a less than welcome task. She would practically have to baby-sit some naïve, unskilled, probably annoying student at least two days a week for the rest of the summer. "Did you have someone in mind?"
"Yes," Healer Smyth continued. She handed Penelope a scroll of parchment. "She won't be back in this country for a few days, so you have time to prepare. I will expect her to start in at the beginning of next week."
Penelope unscrolled the parchment and read the name.
Ginerva Weasley.
"Of course," she forced herself to say before other words of protest could escape her lips and spill into the air between them.
Healer Smyth swept away, and Penelope pocketed the scroll. She reached up to run a hand through her curly hair, something she did whenever she was distressed, and then remembered that it was pinned back into a bun as required by the dress code. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she started walking towards the nearest fire place, deciding to Floo back to her apartment.
She had nothing against Ginerva. She simply did not like most of the Weasley family, and found that the idea of spending time with Percy's youngest sibling was not a pleasant one.
She could only imagine the look that would grace Percy's face when she told him of this latest development.
She had tried, on more than one occasion, to speak to Percy about his family and her concerns. But he refused to hear a word against them. When she complained that they still did not appear to see him for who he actually was, he merely reminded her that it had been he who had walked out on them, not the other way around. When she pointed out that he had been lost in the fray at that house so many times that it really wasn't any wonder that he felt the desire to prove that he was different from the rest of them, he would answer that whatever his motivations, it still hadn't been a good enough reason to say the things he had said to his family.
But it was a reason, she wanted to yell at him, and he wasn't happy now, even though he was reunited with them again.
She paused in front of the fireplace. She wasn't impartial on the subject, she knew that perfectly well. Percy was not like the others, but he was her boyfriend, and she tended to be critical of anyone who made the people she loved unhappy. He had said and done some dreadful things, and he had yet to forgive himself for that. Nor had he forgiven himself for being wrong. She doubted that he ever truly would.
The sound of voices caught her attention, and she tuned away from the fire and her own thoughts. The long hallway was filled with people hurrying back and forth, looking worn and harried, but these voices were coming from in front of her.
She blinked and looked around. To the right, the hallway opened into a smaller passage that twisted out of sight. She walked towards it, slipping around the corner and squinting into the dim light. There were no torches here, and this was a part of the hospital that was not frequently used by others. It lead to the place were magical autopsies were done on the recently deceased, and she knew for a fact that most Healers considered it bad luck to venture into these darker rooms.
In the corridor up ahead, she saw two dark shadows. They were talking, but she did note recognize their voices and their faces were turned away from her. Even if they had been looking at her, it was probably too dark to see anything distinctly anyway.
"Diggory is too well supported," the first voice said. "The man's a Muggle-loving fool, but he's respected by most of the population. Besides, the famous Harry Potter likes him, and that's enough for most people to love him as well."
"Don't be so pessimistic," the second voice answered in a harsh growl. "All we have to do is make sure that he's discredited…"
"Easier said than done," the first voice interrupted.
"Iknow what I'm doing," was the snapped reply. "And as long as you cooperate, you'll get the Traitor as well."
"You can bring me Snape?"
"I can give you the entire Ministry, idiot. You just need to do what I say and have a little more faith." The second man moved, and Penelope realized that he was leaning in towards his companion, threatening the other one. "Don't screw it up."
"What do you get out of this?" the first voice asked, and now it was higher and filled with anxious fear.
"That's not your concern," the second voice answered.
At this point, the first man turned fully around and caught sight of Penelope. He stared at her, and she stared back, suddenly afraid. It was dim enough that he couldn't make out her features, and he was forced to call out, "Who's there?"
Penelope turned and fled.
Minerva McGonagall paused next to the white tomb. It was a habit of hers, to come and pay respects to her late predecessor before strolling about the grounds. She liked to wander around the castle and make sure everything was in order. She could still remember the disarray of the Last Battle and the disaster that had been left in its wake.
It had taken months of hard work and dedication before the school was returned to its former glory, and she was not going to let it fall apart again. Not as long as she was Headmistress.
The sunlight glittered across the smooth white marble. It was almost blinding in its intensity, and she was forced to avert her eyes after a moment. It wasn't particularly hot for this time of year, but the sun was bright and the sky was blue and cloudless.
At the far end of the ground, the gates swung slowly open, and the Headmistress turned and looked into the distance. A man was walking towards her, and she knew exactly who he was by the way his long strides covered the ground with casual ease. She hurried forward to greet him.
"Headmistress McGonagall," the man said with a smile.
"Minister Diggory," the Headmistress replied. "I did not realize you were coming. Did you send an owl I did not receive?"
"No," the Minster answered congenially. "I'm afraid this is a surprise visit. Do you have a moment?"
"Of course." Formalities aside, the two fell into easy chatter as they made their way back towards the castle.
"How are you, Minerva?"
Minerva gave a little shrug. "Quite alright, Amos," she answered. "The end of the year is a welcome relief from everything. The students are every bit as tiresome now as they were before I was Headmistress, only now I am in charge of all of them."
Diggory laughed. "I remember my days at Hogwarts quite fondly."
"You were the serious type," Minerva replied. "I don't remember having much trouble with you. Always had your nose in a book, though."
"Hm… yes, I suppose I did." Diggory looked thoughtful for a moment, then he let his gaze wander to the tomb as they passed by it. He paused, an unreadable expression on his face, and bowed his head slightly. "A great loss," he murmured, and Minerva concurred silently.
The silence that fell over the two of them was gloomy, so Minerva hurried to ask, "And how are you doing? Keeping yourself busy at the Ministry?"
Diggory tore his eyes away from the tomb. "Yes," he answered gravely. "Unfortunately, we've had several recent developments that have needed… solving." He seemed to hesitate, as though there was more he wanted to say, but thought better of it. He looked down at the ground for a moment, studying the muddy dirt and the shoots of grass.
"I heard that someone left an anonymous tip about Snape?" Minerva said, giving Diggory a shrewd look.
Diggory nodded, looking troubled. "Happens all the time," he admitted. "There's a price on Snape's head, and anyone who can lead us to him will get a reward and quite a bit of prestige… Kingsley will investigate it."
"Then that is not the cause of your problems?" Minerva asked, puzzled.
"Well," Diggory said slowly, "it is, and it isn't." He eyed the tall building rising in front of him, its many turrets and towers standing out against the skyline. "I never really did like coming back here," he said off-handedly, but Minerva saw the flash of pain that went through his eyes.
"He was a great loss as well," she said reflectively. "A fine boy. He would have made a fine man."
"Yes, well…" The Minister gave a forced smile. "Cedric would not want us to grieve for him. He was a good son, a good person. He'd want us to celebrate the end of the war."
"Tell me of your problems," Minerva requested after another moment of silence. They stepped through the archway into the entrance of the castle itself, out of the heat and glare of the sun. It was quiet, and the stillness was so different from the usual chaos that filled the halls when the place was teaming with children that Diggory frowned and looked around, seeming lost.
"I suppose you know that Potter wants to drag the Malfoys in for questioning?" Diggory said.
Minerva allowed herself a wry smile. "Yes, Kingsley mentioned this. Subtlety was never Potter's strong point." Her footsteps echoed on the stone floor. She stopped for a moment, her face turned fully towards the Minister. "Are you going to bring them in?"
"Kingsley advises against it," Diggory answered, "for many reasons." They resumed walking.
"He protected young Mr. Malfoy," Minerva said thoughtfully. "I suppose it is possible that Narcissa or Draco would have attempted to keep some form of contact with Snape, but I can't imagine Lucius risking his safety and comfortable life for anyone, not even Snape."
Diggory sighed. "Unfortunately, I don't think any of us are particularly good judges of the Malfoys' characters," he commented. He waved a hand, indifferent to the matter. He was not an Auror, and so he would heed what advice Kingsley gave, knowing that the other wizard had a better understanding of these matters than he did. "But that is not the full reason that I am here."
"Oh?"
Diggory reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin roll of parchment. "I received this yesterday."
Minerva took the scroll and unrolled it, her eyes quickly scanning the words. It was short and to the point, and she frowned at the unfamiliar writing.
Watch your back, Minister. And tell the Headmistress to do the same. There are still people out there who are more dangerous than you think.
"Kingsley says it is the same handwriting as the note left for Hermione Granger," Diggory said cautiously. "If it is one and the same person…" He trailed off and gave the Headmistress a meaningful stare.
"What do you think the reference is to?" Minerva asked after contemplating the note. She handed it back and waited for an answer, her mind whirling. If this stranger was simply warning her about Snape, why wouldn't he have used the potion Master's name? Besides, the writer had warned about "people who were out there." People. Plural. More than one.
"I don't know, Minerva," Diggory answered honestly. "That's what worries me."
"I saw Runcorn at the Malfoys," Minerva suggested thoughtfully.
Diggory wrinkled his nose at the name. "Merlin only knows how he managed to keep himself out of Azkaban," he said bitterly. "Quite a bit of gold must have exchanged hands at some point, don't you think?"
"Mm…" Minerva murmured noncommittally and continued walking.
"We've had our eye on Runcorn for a while," Diggory said quietly, "and there are a few concerns." He grimaced, and elaborated, "Runcorn has been socializing with young Yaxley and Frederick Hannigan."
The Headmistress accepted this bit of information in silence. Young Yaxley, the nephew of the older Yaxley who had run the Department of Magical Law Enforcement during Voldemort's reign had been cleared of any suspicion after the end of the Second War. However, his ties to his uncle had been strong, and it was clear to many that he held the same beliefs as those who had been active Death Eaters.
Hannigan, however, was a completely different problem. He was ambitious, and everyone knew he had his eye on becoming Minister of Magic. He was power-hungry, and reminded Minerva quite a bit of Barty Crouch Sr. Just how far would he go to attain his dreams?
"Someone is desperate for us to take certain actions," the Headmistress said finally. "But before I charge after Snape, I would like to know what this mysterious informant gets from all this."
"Unfortunately, there is far too much pressure to catch Snape to just let this clue go," Diggory said. "If word ever reaches the public that the Malfoys may be involved… Well, it will be a witch hunt." He paused and flashed a small smile. "Pardon the pun."
Runcorn has threatened me. Hannigan may be involved and McGonagall may be in danger. Be careful.
Snape sighed. The note was not signed, and a moment after reading it, it burst into flames in his hands and crumbled to ash at his feet. But he knew who sent it and why, and he turned away from the window where it had appeared and looked into the roaring flames in the fireplace.
Narcissa's handwriting was neat and orderly and identifiable as ever. She was the only one who know how to contact him in such a way, and she was the only one who would ever think to warn him about something like this. Her letter said so much more than just those simple words.
Minerva McGonagall. One of the few people left in the wizarding world that he felt any loyalty to at all. Granted, she would probably kill him on sight, and then ask questions later, but before he had condemned himself to life as a traitor, she had been one of the very small number who had actually accepted him into the side of Light.
And it had been hardest to maintain his cold mask and trademark sneer around her. Hardest to see the hatred and disgust in her eyes and not want to confess that this was all a lie, an act he was performing for the greater good.
Snape watched as the staff slowly filed into the teacher's lounge for their weekly meeting. The Carrows were the first ones here, punctual because they knew better than to cross the Dark Lord's current favorite. They both gave Snape a curt nod and took seats side by side.
Little Flitwick was next, the tiny wizard stumbling through the door with a glower fixed to his face. Snape was not used to seeing the cheerful man so angry, but he suspected that Flitwick's wrath would be the least of his problems once the day was through. His thoughts were almost immediately confirmed as Madam Hooch, Hagrid, and Professor Sprout all entered, their faces lined with identical looks of hatred.
One week into the year, and already they wanted to lynch him.
But it was the next person who came through the door that he dreaded the most, and as he slowly raised his black eyes to meet hers, it was all he could do to keep the blank stare in place, to prevent the trademark smirk from slipping into a grimace of pain.
Minerva McGonagall was staring at him with utter loathing and contempt.
"Do take a seat, Minerva," he drawled, "you're delaying the start of the meeting."
"Pardon me," she said, her voice almost sarcastic. Taking a seat next to Flitwick, she raised on eyebrow, almost daringly.
Snape swallowed. In all his years of teaching here, and in all his years of being her student, he had never seen Professor McGonagall look at anyone with that type of disgust. Her usually unrumpled demeanor had been replaced by simmering anger in her eyes and a vicious coldness to her voice.
He turned away from her, summoned all the strength he had, and began, "There will be some necessary changes to this years curriculum. As I informed the students at the Feast earlier this week, everything that you may have done up until this point is no longer relevant. We are implementing new standards, and I expect your full cooperation in administering them."
"And what are these new standards?" Flitwick asked, his voice high and squeaky.
Snape allowed himself a fleeting smile as he answered, "Society is rapidly evolving, Professor Flitwick. Our new standards are simply to keep up with the changing times."
The other teachers pursed their lips and narrowed their eyes, but said nothing else.
"As I had also informed you all, Muggle Studies, taught by Alecto Carrow, is compulsory for all students. I understand this decision has been met with some… resistance… by the students."
Snape paused. Resistance was an understatement. In the very first class, in which Alecto had tried to explain that all Muggles were filth and should be enslaved by those with magic, Ginny Weasley had set Alecto's hair on fire. She claimed that her wand had malfunctioned and she had only meant to conjure a quill as she had forgotten her own. It would have been much more believable had she not had several quills on her desk at the time.
"And I therefore expect you all to take a few moments for your next lesson to explain to your classes the importance of learning about the proper relationships between witches, wizards, and Muggles," he finished.
"Relationship? Ha, more like enforced servitude," Professor Sprout muttered quietly, having glanced through the required readings for Muggle Studies.
"In addition to this," Snape continued as though he had not heard Professor Sprout, "I have also directed the Carrows to take charge of student discipline from now on. Any infractions upon the new rules should be reported to one of them, and they will deal with the student in question."
"And if we do not agree with these… changes?" Professor McGonagall asked, posing the question as though it was purely hypothetical.
Both the Carrows bristled at the question, and Alecto drew her wand. Whatever she was about to do, however, was stopped by Snape, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. She froze, arm still out in front of her, watching for his instructions.
"I'm afraid, Minerva, that any disapproval of these changes would be met with… displeasure." Snape's black eyes glittered with unconcealed malevolency as he continued silkily, "After all, these improvements are in the interests of the students. You wouldn't want any of them to suffer, would you?"
The thinly veiled threat left Professor McGonagall speechless.
Hagrid, however, knew exactly what he wanted to say. Jumping to his feet, he knocked over the chair and table behind him as he bellowed in rage, "Why you ruddy lying…"
"Silencio," Snape said, waving his wand almost casually. Hagrid stood, comically opening and closing his mouth, but no sound issued forth. His face was flushed with apoplectic fury, and his giant hands were clenched into fists. But when he made a move towards Snape, the current Headmaster simply lifted his wand and pointed it directly at Hagrid and cast a spell.
The half-giant froze, his entire body going rigid, before falling to the floor.
"Hagrid!" Professor Sprout cried, rising and taking a few hesitant steps towards the fallen Hagrid.
"Enough!" Snape said, his voice quiet, but still filled with authority and deadly warnings. Everyone in the room looked at him. The Carrows were grinning, delighting in the entire scene. Several of the other teachers were doing their best to hide their fear, but it could be seen clearly in their eyes. Both Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were staring at him with repugnance.
He waved his wand again, lifting the spells, and Hagrid climbed slowly to his feet.
"I will not tolerate a Game Keeper who can't control his emotions, Hagrid," Snape said threateningly. "If you value your job, I suggest that you refrain from repeating such actions."
Snape forcefully shoved the memory away and stared at the dying flames in the fireplace. It was growing dark outside, and soon the night would descend over all of them. He thought again of Narcissa's letter.
Runcorn, he knew, would do anything necessary to gain power. He had been a wise choice for the Dark Lord, but now that there was no one to keep his thirsts and desires in check, his usefulness came at a price. He would make a bid for control, and destroy anything in his path.
Unbidden, Snape thought of Peter Pettigrew. For thirteen years, Pettigrew had hid as a rat, afraid to face the real world. He was hiding from the Order, who would have wanted revenge. He was hiding from Remus Lupin, who would have undoubtedly hunted the rat-like man down and murdered him in cold blood had he known the truth. But mostly, Pettigrew was hiding from the Dark Lord's remaining survivors, those who thought that he had betrayed them all by sending them to the Potters' home that fateful Halloween night.
Contrary to what many probably believed (Black no doubt included on the list), Snape did not know that Pettigrew was the spy. That night, in the Shrieking Shack, when the Golden Trio and their friendly werewolf Professor had accused him of sending an innocent man to the Dementors, all because of a school boy grudge… Oh, how very wrong they were. As far as he knew, that man had killed Lily, and it was that, and that alone, that had driven his fury and subsequent near-mental breakdown.
But now… now the comparisons between Pettigrew and himself seemed to grow in number. After all, he had betrayed Lily as well, selling her out to the Dark Lord. And now he was in hiding… from more than just the remains of the Order or the Aurors. Now, he was in hiding from the other Death Eaters, because they knew what he had done, how he had betrayed them.
Oh, only a very few new of his betrayal, only those who had been close enough to see what he had done that night, in the deep forest. But he had no doubt that Runcorn was one of those wizards. And as he had been responsible for preventing Runcorn from reaching the true height of power and glory that had been promised under the Dark Lord, he had no doubt that Runcorn would have no qualms about destroying him.
Which brought him back to Narcissa's letter. His best chance at avoiding certain capture and death was to avoid Runcorn and his plots. To simply stay out of all of it, avoid the wizarding world. He was good at hiding, and if he did not want to be found, he could certainly escape discovery.
But Narcissa had warned him, because she understood…
Headmistress McGonagall might be in danger.
"You're a good person," Lily had told him once, as the two of them stood side-by-side on the Great Lawn. "But I don't like your friends. They keep taking you away from everything good and I… I don't want to lose you."
"You'll never lose me," he had foolishly promised, as though forever was something in his power to give.
"Don't stop caring, Sev," Lily had murmured, smiling up at him. "It's what makes you different from the other Slytherins. It's what makes you special."
Don't ever stop caring.
Could he stay here, safe and hidden, and leave Minerva to whatever fate she might face? He licked dry lips, fathomless black eyes gazing at the embers.
Don't ever stop caring.
"I didn't," Snape said to the empty room. "I never stopped caring about you."
Save himself or save McGonagall? Give up on his own life or give up being the sort of person Lily had always wanted him to be? Face the Death Eaters, face the Order, face the Aurors, or face himself?
Life was like walking a tightrope. One misstep in either direction, and everything came tumbling down.