Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: So, so, so sorry this is so late. My other stories took over, and I just didn't get around to writing the next chapter for this.

Summary: The Weasleys face an unpleasant truth, Hannigan and Runcorn get worried, Snape becomes desperate, and Ginny makes an appearance.

All that is gold does not glitter
Not all those who wander are lost

Chapter Seven: The Dark Arts

"…and then he doesn't even show up for the exam," Ron finished with a frustrated sigh, sinking further into the chair and allowing Hermione to sit next to him. He and Harry had gotten into an argument yesterday afternoon, when Harry had been in a particularly foul mood, and Harry had stormed off in a huff. Ron had not seen him since, and his prolonged absence was beginning to concern the youngest Weasley son.

Mrs. Weasley was bustling about in the cramped kitchen, doing her best to listen to her son's concerns, while Bill and Fleur sat across from Ron with identical grim expressions on their faces. Percy was standing, leaning against the wall, his expression unreadable.

"Harry missed one of his exams?" Hermione asked, outraged. She pursed her lips together in such a look of disapproval that Ron felt a sudden sympathy for Harry should Hermione ever catch up with him.

Mrs. Weasley came into the room, wiping her flour-covered hands on her apron and carrying along little Teddy Lupin against her hip. "Have you spoken to him? Is he all right?"

"I don't know," Ron answered. "He's been so angry since that letter 'Mione received. His temper…"

"Even so," Bill interjected, "it's unlike Harry to behave so irresponsibly. Although Snape brings out the worst in him."

"Hmph," Fleur snorted in disgust, "Zat traitor brings out zee worst in all of us." Most of her accent was gone now that she had spent so much time in England, but a few traces of her heavy French remained.

"All he's ever wanted was to be an Auror," Ron agreed. "I just don't understand what's gotten into him lately. And I spoke to Luna, who said that she saw him briefly yesterday, but didn't know any more than that."

"She didn't say what he was like yesterday? Whether he was behaving strangely?" Bill asked.

Rom shook his head, but Hermione pointed out logically, "It's Luna. It's hard to know what she considers strange." That comment brought an amused smile from Percy, who had otherwise remained impassive during all of this.

A sudden high-pitched wailing filled the air, and Fleur rose gracefully to her feet. "Victoire ees waking," she said, before sweeping from the room to check on her daughter.

"This whole thing with Snape is just…" Hermione paused, struggling for words to express her thoughts. Then she said, "You remember how Harry was during our fifth year? No control over his temper, always angry, always… just so irrational. He's like that again."

"But he wouldn't do anything stupid, would he?" Bill asked concerned. "Nothing… dangerous."

"Of course not," Ron said staunchly, defending his best friend, but next to him Hermione did not look convinced. Before she could voice her concerns, however, it was Percy who spoke up.

"Actually, he already has," Percy said grimly, and all eyes turned to him. He knew very well that he wasn't supposed to know this, wasn't supposed to be passing along the information to his family, but he didn't see what else he could do.

"What do you mean?" Bill asked sharply.

"The Minister believes that Harry used the Dark Arts…" Percy trailed off, then added quickly, "by accident, of course."

As Percy had expected, his statement was met with a variety of responses. Bill looked suspicious, as though he couldn't quite figure out if he was to believe Percy. Mrs. Weasly looked upset, but she didn't contradict her son. Ron shook his head furiously, glaring at Percy, and snapped, "That's not true. Harry wouldn't do that."

Only Hermione remained unemotional, her expression completely blank.

"Harry did do it," Percy answered firmly, giving Ron a defiant look.

"But why?" Bill asked. "Why would Harry…"

"He wouldn't!" Ron cut in. He gestured with one hand to Percy and added, "This is just some Ministry attempt to discredit Harry. Again. Or maybe it's Percy's jealousy. Maybe the prat made the entire thing up. But Harry wouldn't use the Dark Arts."

"The way he didn't Crucio Amycus Carrow during the battle at Hogwarts?" Percy answered softly.

A complete silence met his words. Mrs. Weasley gasped, lifting her hands to her mouth. Bill's eyes narrowed coldly, and he said finally, "Harry never used the Cruciatus Curse, Percy. I agree with Ron. You're making this all up."

"Yes, he did," Hermione answered. All eyes swung to her, and she flushed a dull red, but continued firmly, "It was during that battle. Well, before the actual battle started. Harry told us," she gestured to herself and Ron, "that he had used it on Carrow when Carrow spit at Professor McGonagall."

"I never heard about that," Mrs. Weasley murmured, surprised.

Hermione shrugged. "Harry only told Ron and I. And maybe Ginny. It wasn't something he was proud of," she added delicately, "but he was just so mad at the time."

"If he only told Hermione, Ron, and Ginny," Bill asked curiously, looking at Percy, "how did you know?"

"After the battle," Percy said slowly, "Professor McGonagall told Minister Diggory. He knew he couldn't release the information because… well, the wizarding world needs to believe that Harry is their hero, their pure savior, not tainted by anything dark. So he didn't reveal that information."

Ron still looked defiant. "Harry wouldn't…"

"Oh, be sensible, Ron," Hermione snapped finally, her irritation getting the better of her. "This isn't some story Percy came up with to discredit your best mate." She rolled her eyes and said waspishly, "It's true. Deal with it."

"Fine," Ron said sourly. Then he spun to face Percy and asked snappishly, "So when did this alleged use of the Dark Arts take place? And on whom?"

"Yesterday, late morning," Percy replied. "On Draco Malfoy."

Kingsley Shacklebolt stretched his long legs as he stared thoughtfully at the interior decorations of the study. It was very sharp, stark contrasts of white and black, with an occasional hint of bright green. The symbolism was not lost on the Auror; these were Death Eater colors.

Obviously, Runcorn had not changed much in the few years since Voldemort's final fall.

As if on cue, the man himself appeared in the doorway of the room. He eyed Kingsley with a look of pure disdain, but said simply, "Auror Shacklebolt. What a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?" His voice was laden with sarcasm.

"Mr. Runcorn," Kingsley replied, "I would like to speak to you about the Elder Wand."

If Runcorn was at all surprised by this, he expression did not betray it. Instead, he gave a slight shrug and gestured for Kingsley to take a seat. He settled himself into an arm chair and asked, "What exactly would you like to ask?"

Kingsley was momentarily thrown by this blasé response, but he took the seat across from Runcorn and said, "What do you know about it?"

Runcorn considered the question before answering, "As far as I know, it is a myth. The Deathly Hallows and all that…" He wrinkled his nose and added, "Just a children's story, Auror Shacklebolt."

"In the final battle between Harry and Voldemort, Harry made reference to the wand," Kingsley countered. "And Voldemort agreed that he had it, that he had stolen it from Dumbledore."

Runcorn nodded. "Yes, I heard that," he stated coldly. "So perhaps it is more than just a legend. Still, I fail to see what this has to do with me?"

"We have reason to believe that Severus Snape is after that wand," Kingsley explained. "It goes with saying that he could do terrible damage if he were to gain possession of it." He folded his hands neatly in his lap. "I hope you understand the importance of preventing that catastrophe."

"Of course," Runcorn sneered, the tone of his voice clearly conveying his disinterest in the subject. "But I still do not understand what any of this has to do with me."

Kingsley hesitated for a moment, weighing his options. So far, Runcorn had neither panicked at the questions, nor had he shown any interest in them. This lack of response concerned Kingsley; either Runcorn didn't know about Snape's words to Malfoy, or he was a very good actor. Either way, it would be more difficult to get information out of him.

Finally, the Auror said, "It has come to our attention that Snape may have made contact with you."

Runcorn leaned back in his seat, eyeing Kingsley with disgust. He curled his lip and replied, "If he had, I would have reported it."

"It was Severus Snape himself who said that he had been in contact with you," Kingsley pressed, wondering how Runcorn would respond.

For a moment, Runcorn was at a complete loss for words. Then he asked cautiously, "And how did Snape tell you this?"

"Is it true?" Kingsley countered.

"Of course not," Runcorn seethed angrily. "I have nothing to do with that traitor, and I never shall."

Kingsley nodded. His years in training as an Auror had given him the ability to read most people. That, combined with a nonverbal, wandless Legilimency often allowed him to ascertain if the emotions people purported to have were in fact truthful. Only the most skilled Occlumens, such as Snape, could fool him.

And Runcorn's hatred of Snape was one hundred percent real.

Kingsley rose. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Runcorn. I believe that clears the matter up."

"Pleasure," Runcorn drawled sardonically, and Kingsley swept from the room.

Hannigan was not remotely surprised to see Runcorn appear in his home. In fact, he had almost been expecting the man to show up earlier than this. Upon seeing his co-conspirator, he placed the scroll of parchment he had been reading on the table and rose.

Runcorn did not waste time on civility. "Why does Shacklebolt think that I've been in touch with Snape?"

Hannigan shook his head wordlessly, then stammered, "I… I don't know."

"He thinks Snape is after the Elder Wand," Runcorn continued, his voice rising in volume. "He thinks I am as well. This will not work if the Ministry is constantly watching us!"

"Snape somehow ensured that the Auror stationed at Spinner's End would not be there last night," Hannigan said, thinking quickly. "Perhaps whatever his methods, they also framed you…"

Runcorn considered this, then added, "The Malfoys may be behind it. They are still close to Snape, still on his side."

"I don't understand that," Hannigan interrupted, rubbing a hand over his face and letting out a sigh. "They worked against You Know Who in the end. Why would they side with his right-hand man?"

Runcorn gave Hannigan a long look. He had forgotten that Hannigan did not know the truth of Snape's loyalties. Very few did, only a few of the Death Eaters who had seen his final acts against the Dark Lord. And most of the Death Eaters were dead now, or in Azkaban, unable to clear his name. And even those who did know did not understand why. Why would Snape have changed his allegiance and worked for the other side? Because they all knew that he had been loyal to the Dark Lord once… what had changed?

But Runcorn couldn't tell Hannigan the truth. The other man's ambition might allow him to overlook most of the crimes that he was committing, but sending an innocent man… a hero, really… to a cruel and painful death at the hands of the society he had saved… Hannigan's morals might protest against that. Runcorn couldn't take the risk.

"Snape saved Draco Malfoy from death at the hands of the Order and Dumbledore," Runcorn said at last. "He maybe the vilest of traitors, but he did save their son." He shook his head and spat, "They will protect him, no matter what else he has done. They ignore his other crimes."

"We will bring them down as well," Hannigan said confidently.

Runcorn nodded absently. "Snape has somehow managed to frame me, to force the Ministry to suspect me. He has also proven that he can manipulate the Aurors to gain access to previously restricted spots." He narrowed his eyes at Hannigan. "What happened when you met with him last night?"

Hannigan appeared unconcerned as he replied, "He knows that we are planning something, but he doesn't have proof of anything." In truth, he was much more worried than that, but he refused to let it show. Snape's actions over the past few days had obviously been meant to intimidate him, to prove that the potions Master was someone to be feared, someone who could still influence the entire world to suit his own purposes. He would not let those intimidation tactics succeed.

Runcorn tapped his foot impatiently. "It doesn't matter if he has proof. He can still obviously frame us." He began to pace, his steps echoing in the room.

"And we can frame him," Hannigan answered with a twisted smile. He pointed with one hand to a jar on the table near the door, a small vial that contained a few long, black, greasy strands of hair.

Runcorn crossed the room and lifted the bottle. He stared at it for a moment, a strange expression crossing his face, a mixture of disgust and triumph. "Are these…?"

"Yes."

Runcorn turned. "What do you plan to do with them?" he demanded.

"I haven't decided yet," Hannigan replied calmly, "but they will come in handy. Hair always does."

"You will inform me of your plans as soon as you make them," Runcorn ordered tersely. "Remember, I have much to lose as well." He didn't want Hannigan to do anything reckless or stupid, anything that could compromise their agenda. He had worked too long and too hard at this to let anyone ruin it.

"And you still have not told me what you stand to gain," Hannigan pointed out severely.

Runcorn glowered and answered furiously, "Do you still question my motives?"

Hannigan didn't answer. He was becoming more and more concerned by this plan, especially now that Snape had chosen to become personally involved. What did Runcorn stand to gain, and why did he refuse to divulge it? Was there more to all of this than met the eye?

It had seemed like a good idea at first, working with Runcorn. He was powerful and still well-connected to the old pureblood families. Despite the constant suspicion from the Ministry, Runcorn had been able to remain in a high enough social and political position to aid Hannigan's pursuit of his goals. But at what cost? He hadn't cared before, because the Malfoys and Snape deserved what was coming to them. But now…

"Are you getting cold feet?" Runcorn hissed.

"No," Hannigan said. He looked away. He wasn't going to back out, he wasn't going to give up. He wasn't afraid of the consequences…

Was he?

"Did you get what you wanted, Snape?"

Snape barely glanced up from where he was sitting at the kitchen table. His wards had alerted him to Lucius Malfoy's presence before the wizard had appeared in the room with a loud crack, so he was not particularly startled by his guest.

"I got some information," Snape answered. "And I think Hannigan will tread a little more carefully around me from now on."

"Did you get any useful information?" Malfoy pressed. "Or was this whole elaborate scheme of yours just a way to get us into trouble?"

"Don't worry, Lucius, I'm not a fool," Snape answered. "I know what I am doing."

Except that he hadn't learned anything useful. He hadn't been able to force or coerce the details of the plan from Hannigan. Which meant that Minerva was still in danger, and he didn't know what to do.

He needed Dumbledore. He had needed Dumbledore from the very first moment he set foot in that school, and although the man had managed to spectacularly fail him on more than one occasion, he had, in more recent years, provided both the help and concern that Snape had associated only with Lily. He smirked inwardly. So that extended his list of people actually worth caring about to six now; the three Malfoys, Minerva, Dumbledore, and, always, Lily.

But Lily wasn't there, and neither was Dumbledore, and he couldn't exactly ask Minerva for advice.

She didn't react well to his presence anymore…

"You gave Ginny Weasley ten detentions?" Professor McGonagall seethed as she stormed into the Headmaster's office. "She didn't do anything wrong!"

"She said his name," Snape replied silkily, "and any mention of that old fool is worth more than ten detentions." Snape gave a thinly amused smile as he watched Professor McGonagall quivering with indignation. "She got off light, and she should count her blessings."

"That old fool was the bravest, wisest, best Headmaster this school has ever seen," Professor McGonagall replied furiously, "and a far better man that you or your Lord."

I know, Snape thought. But I am here and he is not, and I cannot change any of that. Aloud, he answered with a sneer, "Yes, and look where it got him." He turned away from her just as the rage filled her eyes, but he heard the rustle of her hand against her robes and said, "I would not draw that wand if I were you, Minerva. As I have told you countless times before, anyone who does not agree with my methods of running this school will find themselves out of a job."

She strode from the room, slamming the door shut behind her. He turned to watch her departure, a smug expression on his face until the door closed and he was alone. Then he sunk wearily into the chair, feeling much older than he should, and much more exhausted than he could afford.

"I am sure you could find a first year Hufflepuff to torment if that would make you feel better," a voice said, and Snape turned around to face the portrait and those constantly twinkling blue eyes.

A wry smile grew on Snape's face as he answered, "I suppose I could."

"She will understand in the end," Dumbledore's portrait assured him. "They will all understand."

"I would rather they understood now," Snape hissed.

The portrait did not respond right away. When it finally spoke, the voice said softly, "You could. Show them your memories, and they will understand."

"And forfeit my position at the school? I would leave all the children in danger," Snape countered with a resigned sigh.

"So?" Dumbledore's portrait asked. "Does it matter what becomes of them?"

Snape glared at him and rose to his feet. Leave it to Dumbledore to play on his conscience. "I think I'll go track down some wandering Hufflepuff now," he snapped before stalking from the room.

In a way, it was his love for Lily that drove his motivations. But it was also more than that. It was the desire to be the person he had been when he was with her, to feel that he was doing the right thing. That somehow he would leave an imprint of the world, help shape it into something better. He had made mistakes, but he could make up for them. Like Dumbledore, he understood the necessity for second chances.

"I know you are not a fool, Severus," Lucius answered, "but it is my family that you are putting in danger as well."

"I know," Snape said. He rose. "I must speak to Dumbledore."

"He's dead," Lucius said bluntly, now eyeing Snape as though he was afraid the other man had lost his mind.

"I know that," Snape snapped irritably. "But I can still speak to his portrait."

"You can't break into Hogwarts," Lucius argued. "It's the most well protected place in all of England. They'll catch you."

But Snape wasn't listening. Instead, his mind was whirling away, thinking over other thoughts, other plans, ways of sneaking into a well-guarded school and obtaining a private audience with a portrait.

"You're thinking like a madman," Lucius said, his voice now taking on an edge of desperation. "Severus, think…"

"I am thinking," Snape retorted. "I have been thinking this entire time. I need to stop them. I need to stop them before…" He didn't finish the statement.

You disgust me, Dumbledore had said once, and at the time, no one had ever spoken a truer word. The things he had done disgusted even himself, twisted his stomach in unimaginable ways. All in the name of pursuing power and honor and respect, and what had it gotten him?

Nothing more than a life as a fugitive, seeking refuge in this out-of-the-way hovel, watching in helpless frustration as the world spun around him.

Don't stop caring, Lily had said, and he hadn't. Not then, and not now.

He looked at Lucius Malfoy, the tall, proud, powerful wizard who stood on the dirty floor in this cramped kitchen, his expensive robes and exquisite walking stick out of place among the worn, second-hand objects that adorned the place.

Six people in the world worth caring about.

"I need to break into Hogwarts."

He'd gone about as close to the graves as he could, but something always turned him back. The cemetery, connected to that little church, should have welcomed him to the graves of his parents, but…

He'd thought, even, of going to visit his old house, the half-ruined, dilapidated structure where his parents had died. The spells cast on it remained as strong as ever, preserving it forever in its ruined state. And yet…

He just couldn't.

So, instead of visiting his parents' graves or his old home as he had originally intended, Harry Potter found himself sitting on a bench near the very end of one of the twisting lanes that wound its way through Godric's Hollow.

He wondered what his friends would say when they learned what he had done to Malfoy. He could picture Hermione's face clearly, a sort of mixture of pity, disappointment, and condescension. Ron, on the other hand, wouldn't say anything. He might ask Harry if there was anything at all he wanted to say, and would listen. But he wouldn't offer advice or condemnations or approval. Ginny was a bit more difficult to predict. Would she be supportive or understanding or upset or angry?

Luna, of course, had been the most helpful. Her comments still resonated in his mind, and he thought about them over and over, wondering how exactly how he had reached this point where he would be taking morality advice from someone who assumed that if the rest of the world believed something, it was undoubtedly wrong.

He'd missed the Auror exams.

"I thought you might be here."

Harry started and looked up as the familiar redheaded walked into view. She was taller than he remembered, or maybe it was just that he had forgotten how much she had grown up in the past few years. She was still as beautiful, and her mere presence still brought a smile to his face.

He rose to his feet and took a few steps towards her. "Ginny."

"Actually," Ginny said, glancing around, "I thought you might be at your parents' graves or by your old house. But you weren't, so I wandered around a bit, and here you are."

"Here I am," Harry agreed. He could tell by the closed and guarded expression on her face that she somehow knew, and he wondered how quickly information like this traveled. "How?" he asked, and because it was Ginny, he didn't need to finish the question. She understood.

"I heard it from Ron, who got it from Percy, who apparently eavesdropped on a conversation of the Minister's," she answered. She took his hand and lead him back to the bench. "I only got home about an hour ago, and Mum wanted me to come over to visit her for a while, but I wanted to make sure you were okay first. Especially since Ron said he hadn't spoken to you in a while…"

"Did you see Luna?" Harry asked curiously, knowing that is Ginny had returned to the flat that she shared with her… unique… friend, she probably would have heard from Luna a bit of the story as well.

Ginny nodded. "Something Luna said when I got back first made me wonder… that's why I decided to talk to Ron."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "He deserved it," he said coldly, firmly.

"Did he?"

"I wanted to hurt him," Harry admitted. "I… I wanted to make him feel what it felt like to…" He shook his head, weary. He looked at Ginny, and said, "I have to find Snape. I have to find him before I can move on with my life." He hadn't said those words aloud to anyone, ever, but hadn't he known all along that they were true?

"You can't dwell on revenge," Ginny countered.

"It isn't revenge," Harry replied. He was silent for a moment, a contemplative look on his face, then he said, "Not really, anyway. But he killed my parents. He handed them over to Voldemort, and I… I need to face him one last time. I need to get come kind of closure."

"He's dangerous, Harry," Ginny warned, her gentle eyes clouded with worry. She squeezed Harry's hand. It was not the homecoming she had expected. She had wanted to surprise him in his flat, and they could have a romantic dinner, and she would regale him with stories of her trip, with news of Charlie and dragons. She had wanted her first day home to be filled with happiness and laughter, not this somber, lingering regret and despair.

"I know he's dangerous," Harry agreed. "But I need this. I have all this anger inside of me, and if I don't face him…" He gave a sad smile. "I wanted to hurt Malfoy, but not like that. Not that way. Not with the Dark Arts."

"You need to be careful. The world needs you."

"I am so sick of being a hero," Harry muttered in annoyance, and, once again, his words rang with unflinching truth. "I need to do this… for me. For my parents."

Ginny knew by the determined look on Harry's face that she would not be able to convince him otherwise. So she did the only thing she could. She leaned her head on his shoulder and asked, "So what happens now?"