Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: Narcissa is threatened, Minerva McGonagall finds herself in an uncomfortable position, Snape makes a decision, and Hermione has an epiphany.

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

Chapter Nine: Crossroads

"I don't have anything to say to you," Narcissa Malfoy announced coldly, lifting her eyes to face the several Aurors in front of her. Inside, she was shaking with fear, understanding that the outcome of this meeting could spell disaster for the three people she cared about the most. But she refused to let that expression show on her face, and instead kept her expression haughty and calm.

"Really?" one of the Aurors asked. Narcissa didn't recognize him, and he didn't deign to introduce himself to her. Instead, he strode forward, arms crossed over his chest, and asked in a cold tone, "Even if the fate of your dear son hangs in the balance?"

"Don't you dare threaten my son," Narcissa hissed, her face contorted with fury. For a moment, her cold façade had crumpled, revealing the scared, yet still undeniably strong, mother underneath the surface. But then the mask was back up, and she merely flicked her gaze across the room to Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Unless you have any particular proof of Draco's misdeeds, you can't hurt him."

Kingsley waved one hand at the other Aurors, signaling for them to back off. They reluctantly moved away, and he walked forward. Eyeing Narcissa calculatingly, he answered, "We only want to talk, Mrs. Malfoy."

Narcissa raised one eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the edges of her lips. "You brought me here just to talk?" she drawled, glancing around the room.

They were in the lowest level at the Ministry. She had not been dragged into one of the full chambers to be tried by the entire Wizengamot like some common criminal, but they had requested that she submit to their… conversation… in one of the smaller rooms used for investigations. It was empty, except for the table that separated her from the others, and the two chairs pushed back against the far wall; one for the investigator, one of the accused.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Kingsley said calmly, refusing to be goaded by her words, although he recognized the truth in her implied accusations, "allow me to be quite frank. The situation does not appear particularly hopeful for your son. He was seen consorting in Diagon Alley with Yaxley, and his cruel comments to Ernie Macmillan and George Weasley were overheard by a rather large crowd of witnesses."

Narcissa clenched her hands into tight fists, then let them relax. "Yaxley was not convicted of any crimes, nor has he been sent to Azkaban. You cannot claim that my son's fraternization with him is a crime." She hesitated, then added, "And I would wonder what harsh words Mr. Macmillan and Mr. Weasley threw at my son. From my understanding of the incident, my son did not instigate the argument."

Kingsley accepted this with a slow nod of his head. He needed to confront Narcissa on other matter as well, and those he did not wish to discuss in front of all the Aurors present. Turning to the others, he ordered briskly, "Leave us. I will continue this investigation myself."

His request was met with grumbles of dissent, but the other Aurors filed out of the room, leaving him alone. Turning back to Narcissa, he studied her once again, wondering what thoughts were passing behind those pale eyes of hers.

"I'm not a fool," Narcissa said softly. "I know that things do not look good for Draco. And I understand and accept any responsibility that my husband and I bear for turning society's opinion against us. But Draco has broken no laws as of yet, and I refuse to let you use him as a means of getting to me and Lucius."

Kinglsey walked over to the wall and pulled one of the chairs to the table. He gestured for Narcissa to sit down, which she did reluctantly. Then he carried the other chair over to the opposite side of the table and settled into it across from the blonde witch.

"Quite frankly," he said, placing his hands on the table and leaning back in his chair, "you and your husband are not the ultimate target here."

"I-I don't understand," Narcissa faltered, momentarily thrown by Kingsley's words.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Kingsley continued calmly, watching her intently, "there have been allegations that you and your husband know the whereabouts of Severus Snape."

He saw it then, the telltale flicker of fear that flashed through her eyes, and he felt his heart sink. It was so quick that anyone else might have missed it, or not been able to correctly interpret its meaning. But he knew, and as he stared at Narcissa, he felt the disappointment grow.

She knew where Snape was.

He had wanted to believe that she and her husband had changed. He had wanted to believe that Draco was now on the side of Light. He had wanted to believe that this family had taken advantage of their second chance and learned from their past mistakes.

He looked away. Slowly, he said, "Mrs. Malfoy, I understand that Snape protected your son and kept him safe from Lord Voldemort," he noted the way she twitched involuntarily at the sound of the Dark Lord's name, "and you might feel some loyalty to him."

Narcissa picked her words carefully as she answered, "I do not hold any loyalty to any person who has betrayed the side of Light."

Kingsley shook his head. "Snape has killed people. He betrayed us. He was to become Lord Voldemort's right-hand man. He deserves justice, and as long as you continue to shield him, I have no choice but to assume that you are working against us as well." He sounded truly regretful as he said the words, as though he didn't quite want to believe any of it.

Narcissa hesitated again, thinking cautiously about her choices now. Could she continue to protect her friend even at the cost of her own life? She bit her lip, but knew inside that she would have sacrificed her life if it had meant keeping Snape safe as she knew that he would have done the same for her.

But would she sacrifice Draco?

She looked down at the table. She needed time, time to think, time to talk to Snape.

"Mrs. Malfoy?" Kingsley prompted.

Narcissa looked up at him, and replied in a calm and collected voice, "You don't have proof." Kingsley began to protest, but she lifted a hand to stall him. "I know you do not have proof, Auror Shacklebolt. If you did, you would have already arrested myself, my husband, and my son. Since you do not have this proof, but merely your own conjectures, you do not have the authority to keep me here against my will. I would like to leave now."

She rose, and Kingsley did the same. Before she could leave the room, however, he reached out and caught her arm, his grip tightening around her slender wrist.

"We will find proof," he said firmly, confidently. "I put all my cards on the table and gave you a chance to do the right thing, Mrs. Malfoy. If you walk away now, you will not be shown mercy when we have proof of your betrayal."

She pulled her arm out of his grip and raised her eyes to meet his. Defiantly, she answered, "I never asked for your mercy before, Auror, and I certainly will not beg for it now." And without another word, she strode from the room.

The man who now looked like Severus Snape stood in front of the mirror, rather pleased by his appearance. When Hannigan had taken the hairs from Snape's head at their last confrontation, he had not thought up the perfect use for them. But Runcorn always had Polyjuice Potion stored in his home, just in case, and Yaxley was never one to shy away from a risk.

Especially when the rewards were so high.

So Yaxley, wearing Snape's face, gave himself one last triumphant smile, then turned on the spot and Apparated from the room.

He reappeared in the alley between two buildings at the outskirts of Hogsmeade. A fine mist lay over everything, remnants of last nights pouring rain. But the sun was shinning now, a glowing yellow orb in the bright blue sky, and the small village was filled with the noise of people enjoying one of England's rare beautiful days.

He waited patiently, his eyes fixed on the path that lead from Hogwarts down to the village. His quarry would come walking down it soon enough, unaware of the danger that loomed in the shadows.

He wasn't really sure what the result of his conversation with Draco Malfoy would be. It was unlikely that the boy would join his side, although if the rest of society continued to act against the Malfoys in the same manner as those who had been at Diagon Alley, it was quite conceivable that they would push Draco far enough away that he would have no choice but to turn to his father's old companions.

Either way, his meeting with Draco had increased the public distrust of the Malfoy family, and he certainly could not say he was displeased with that. Narcissa's actions had saved Potter's life and brought about the downfall of the Dark Lord, and he wanted to see her suffer. Preferably for a very long time, wasting away in Azkaban until the despair finally drove her insane.

Something shifted in the distance, and he picked out a figure walking along the path, getting closer with every passing minute. He smiled with anticipation, and withdrew his wand from his pocket.

Soon, Minerva McGonagall was standing in front of him, then passing him by on the path, unaware of his presence. He crept forward, watching as she waved hello to a few other witches and wizards who were out enjoying the day. Then, once he was sure that she had been seen by enough people to attract attention, he stepped fully out into the light.

Several people gasped. A few screamed. And he stunned Professor McGonagall with a well-aimed spell before she even had a chance to turn around. Then he walked forward, sizing her by the arm, and looked up at the others who were racing towards him, shouting in fear and panic.

Then he disappeared, taking McGonagall with him.

They reappeared in the sitting room of his home, and he quickly removed McGonagall's wand and bound her tightly with ropes. She was still unconscious, for which he was grateful, but he took the added precaution of casting a silencing charm on her in case she should wake up and call for help.

The door behind him swung open and Runcorn marched into the room, his wand held out in front of him. He eyed Yaxley, then said coldly, "I presume you are not the real Snape?"

Yaxley glanced down and realized that Runcorn was holding a half-filled vial of Polyjuice Potion in his other hand. "So I borrowed some of your potion. Who cares?" He gestured towards McGonagall. "I needed it for the next stage in our plan."

Runcorn didn't answer right away. Then he asked in a suspicious tone, "What was the last thing I said to you this morning before you left my home?"

Yaxley shook his head and smiled. "I didn't speak to you this morning," he replied, correctly answering the question and allaying Runcorn's suspicions; he was the real Yaxley. "I simply borrowed some of the potion and left."

Runcorn pocketed his wand and frowned at the Headmistress' still body. "Kidnapping her wasn't part of the plan," he said, confused. Again, he gave Yaxley a suspicious stare. "What are you trying to pull?"

"You said we had to move up our timetables," Yaxley answered. "Hannigan is getting nervous, he could back out at any second, and Snape isn't going to just turn himself in."

"And how is this going to help anything?" Runcorn demanded, frowning.

"Plenty of people saw me… or should I say, saw Snape… stun her and kidnap her. It will get out about what he has done, and the real Snape will become concerned. We're forcing his hand, pushing him out of hiding."

"Assuming he comes for her," Runcorn countered, still hesitant about this new development in the plan. "What makes you think he would risk his life for her, anyway?"

"Call it intuition," Yaxley answered with a shrug. "I just know." He didn't elaborate, and for once Runcorn didn't push for details. He wasn't even sure he could explain it anyway. Like a few of the Death Eater sympathizers still alive, he knew that Snape had betrayed them in the end. And although he didn't know the exact reason why, he had to believe that it was because of some sense of loyalty to something. Minerva McGonagall had been a steady presence in Snape's life since he was eleven-years-old, and Yaxley remembered the way Snape had protected her during the final battle, casting shield charms around her before he disappeared from the fight. There were a very few people in the world Snape would save, but Yaxley was pretty sure that she was one of them.

"What do we do about Hannigan?" Runcorn asked, switching subjects. "He is becoming a liability."

"We need him for now," Yaxley replied, "but we can dispose of him later."

Runcorn pursed his lips, nodding slowly. "Have you heard of Abbott's new idea?"

Yaxley gave a bark of harsh laughter. "Removing Slytherin's from their families to ensure they aren't corrupted by our morals?" If the proposal didn't have so much popularity right now, it would have been downright laughable. But unfortunately, Abbott was gaining support, and his ideas would not be easily forgotten by those who still thirsted for revenge against the Death Eaters.

"Once our plan is complete, Abbott and those like him won't be a problem," Runcorn murmured, and Yaxley nodded in agreement. The older man looked at his younger coconspirator and added, "You should probably find somewhere to hide for a while until you look like yourself again."

Yaxley touched his face, feeling Snape's pale skin and greasy hair. "Right," he agreed, and walked out of the room.

It didn't take long for news of Professor McGonagall's kidnapping to spread through the wizarding world. Within only a few hours, it seemed as though every single household was filled with hushed whispers and worried remarks, and a sense of fear permeated the air. They had all believed they were safe, and somehow this one act had reminded them all that the world was still a dangerous place, and there were still criminals loose in the country.

And only a few hours after that, Narcissa found herself sitting at the kitchen table in Snape's miserable excuse for a home, searching her memory to provide him with every single detail she had heard of the Headmistress' capture.

"So, I take it you didn't actually kidnap her?" Narcissa ventured, trying to break the grim silence that had fallen as Snape brooded to himself.

Snape sent her a quelling glare, and she looked down at the table and sighed. She knew at this point there was little she could say or do to coax her friend out of his sour mood, but she wished that she could somehow help.

Then she thought of Shacklebolt's and his threat, of her son's safety and very life, and wondered how much further she was willing to go before the gains no longer outweighed the risks.

She'd informed Snape of Shacklebolt's statements as well, knowing that he needed to know exactly what was being said about him. He had taken it all in silence, although he did appear worried. But after she had supplied him with a full recounting of the incident, he did not press her for questions, and it was almost as though he had forgotten about it entirely.

Finally, Snape looked at her again, his beady black eyes staring directly into her own. He didn't have to say anything, she could see from the look on his face what he wanted to do.

"Severus, please… think about what this would mean for you," she said softly. "You can't get the Headmistress back on your own. You don't even know where she is!"

"Hannigan, Runcorn, and Yaxley are behind this," he said, rising to his feet with one fluid motion. "I know that much."

"And what are you going to do?" Narcissa replied. "Rush into their homes, wand out and ready to attack? Be reasonable, it is three against one, you would never win. Besides, they want you exposed so they can capture you and turn you over to the Aurors."

"I know," Snape said.

"If you go, it will be suicide," Narcissa pressed, willing him to understand and agree. She couldn't let him just risk his life, not when so much was at stake.

"I know," Snape said again.

"Severus…"

"Iknow!" Snape hissed, cutting her off before she could speak. "Don't you think I know all this? Do you really believe you can tell me anything that I could not come up with on my own? I may rely on you for many things, Narcissa, but the ability to think for myself is not one of them."

Narcissa flinched, as though his harsh words had physically hurt her. She pushed back her chair and got to her feet, inching away from Snape. She didn't like the desperate look in his eyes or the way he seemed to continually look around the kitchen as though searching for answers among the dishes and the tea kettle.

"What are you going to do?" she whispered.

He pulled his wand from his pocket and crossed the room to the counter. Carefully placing the wand at the edge of his forehead, he pulled a single silver strand from his mind and deposited it carefully within a newly cleaned vial. He closed the vial, placing a stopper tightly on it, and turned back to Narcissa.

"I need to speak to Kingsley Shacklebolt. Alone."

"He's an Auror," Narcissa countered, "and a very good one at that. He might just kill you on sight."

"He won't," Snape countered, holding the vial out to Narcissa, "because you are going to give him this first. And then you will arrange the meeting for me."

She took the memory in her hand and nodded, still unsure, but unwilling to openly disagree with him. "I hope you know what you're doing, Severus," she said finally, and as she Disapparated away, she thought she heard his lingering whisper…

"Me, too."

For Hermione Granger, there were certain things that were always supposed to be true. Perseverance and studying always paid off in the end. Everything worth knowing could be found either in a book or in one's own conscience. All creatures deserved the same just and fair treatment, and any abuse of power was inherently wrong.

And, of course, for six years, she had always believed that Dumbledore was infallible. It was, she now realized, just the naïve yearnings of a child who wanted to know that adults would always protect her. Nobody was perfect, least of all this great wizard. He had done many wonderful things, and many horrible ones, and she had eventually been forced to face that truth.

She still believed that he was a good person at heart, and that he had good aims, regardless of what Rita Skeeter published about his twisted morals. And he had made mistakes, but people deserved second chances, and in the fight against Voldemort, he had been instrumental.

Harry had let go of most of his anger against Dumbledore, but the occasional outburst served to remind her that some wounds run to deep to completely heal. She had heard Harry mutter that Dumbledore never seemed to care about anything besides defeating Voldemort, and was willing to use anything and anyone to gain that advantage. He didn't see the bigger picture.

She wondered, sometimes, what exactly that bigger picture was. Could anyone really claim that there was anything in the world more important than defeating the most evil wizard that ever lived?

On the other hand, did that make Dumbledore any different from Voldemort, who was also willing to use people to achieve his own ends? Did it matter that the ends were radically different? Do the ends justify the means?

Or, on the flipside, can you justify doing nothing while a madman takes over the world by saying that any action you take would ultimately hurt someone? People get hurt all the time, and every day during that way another person would die or go missing or get tortured. Wasn't it worth it to put an end to all that, no matter the cost?

Dumbledore had used Harry, in a way. Of course, Harry had also wanted to bring about Voldemort's fall, and was it really using someone if both endgames were the same?

And, in addition, was Dumbledore so wrong to keep Harry in the dark about some of the things he had planned? Harry had hardly shown himself to have the best judgment during those first six years at Hogwarts, and his temper too often kept him from seeing the future consequences of his actions. He was just a child at the time. They were all just children at the time, and yet somehow so convinced that they knew what was best.

It was thoughts like these that fluttered around in her brain, making her rethink and question and doubt everything that she had once so fervently believed. She wondered, quite frequently, had she been wrong about Dumbledore? And if she had been wrong about him, what else could she be wrong about?

What if books weren't as important as she had always claimed?

She was sitting on the sofa in Ron's apartment, wondering just what to say to Harry and how to confront him about his irresponsible behavior, when all these thoughts began to fill her mind. And try as she might, she couldn't push them away. Things were vastly more complicated than they seemed, and that was a lesson that held true for most things in life.

So before she began a long-winded lecture to Harry about the stupidity of his actions, she decided to stop and really think about the best approach to take in this.

Which left Harry and Ron, who were both sitting on the chairs across from her, to stare at her with a sort of wonderment in their eyes. Usually, she would have been talking by now. In fact, she would have been halfway through her lecture had she started when she had first opened her mouth.

"Uh… Hermione?" Ron prompted. "Don't you have anything to say?"

Ginny had stopped by to speak to Hermione, and she had heard from the younger girl about Harry's trip to his parents' graves. She and Ron had then agreed to confront Harry together, and speak to him first before one of the many adults in his life, most likely Mrs. Weasley, began to fuss over him and demand to know what he had been thinking by behaving so rashly. And Ron had rightly assumed that she would be the first to speak, yet here she was, breaking the pattern by remaining silent.

She made a mental list of everything she would have wanted to say to Harry. After careful review, she determined that it was all things he could come up with on his own, if he really stopped to think about his actions.

"No," she said finally, shaking her head. "I guess I really don't."

Harry gaped. Ron opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. Harry tilted his head to the side, examining Hermione cautiously. Ron shook his head in bewilderment.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked at last, completely thrown by her refusal to lecture him.

"I could tell you that you were foolish and reckless and stupid," Hermione answered, "but I'm thinking you know that already. And I'm also going to guess that everything is a bit more complicated than it seems right now, and you have a lot to deal with. I think maybe it is best if you take the time to figure out what you truly want before the rest of us tell you what we think you should want."

It was strange for her to say, so completely out of character that she felt almost giddy as the words left her mouth. But Harry had spent so much time having other people think for him, and maybe now it was time he did something on his own.

She stood up. "Good night," she said, then walked out of the room.

Ron and Harry watched her go in silence.