Title: All That Glitters
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Summary: And for the first time in three years, after all the fruitless searching and frustrated dead ends, Harry found himself staring at Severus Snape.
All that is gold does not glitter
Not all those who wander are lost
Chapter Fourteen: My Soul to Keep
…
Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
The fading light of a slowly sinking sun cast long shadows along the walls of the office. Snape looked around for a moment, letting his eyes wander over each and every detail, as though trying to commit them to memory. He could hear the sound of footsteps on the creaking stairs through the closed wooden door behind him, and he knew this was his last moment to himself before everything changed.
"Good evening, Severus," Dumbledore said, stepping through the doorway and smiling slightly at his spy. His blue eyes were not twinkling, nor did the smile that curved his lips reach his serious gaze.
"Good evening, Headmaster," Snape replied. He folded his arms over his chest in a defensive manner and glanced around the room one last time.
Dumbledore placed his wand on his desk and gestured for Snape to take a seat. The potions Master seemed reluctant to do so, but gave a slow nod of acquiescence and slid into the chairs. His eyes never left the wand lying carelessly on the surface of Dumbledore's desk.
"I trust you," Dumbledore said casually, his back to Snape as he leaned over a cupboard and pulled out a large stone basin.
Snape looked up in surprise, eyes widening. "Wh-what?" he asked, sounding a little confused.
Dumbledore turned to face him, holding the basin in one hand. "You were wondering why I would have discarded my wand when I had a known Death Eater sitting in my office." He glanced at the wand for a moment, then placed the basin on the desk next to it. He still made no move to pick up his wand. "My answer, Severus, is that I trust you."
Snape stared at the flames crackling in the fireplace. The visit by Narcissa Malfoy had left him unsettled, but the doubts that plagued him were unclear and ill-formed. He had no reason not to trust Narcissa, and wasn't this exactly what he wanted anyway? A meeting with Shacklebolt that might take him one step closer towards freeing Minerva McGonogall from whatever fate awaited her.
He let out a slow breath and closed his eyes for a moment. He could see Dumbledore standing in front of him, one hand resting on the pensieve, eyes peering at Snape with a scrutinizing gaze. It had been his first Occlumency lesson, and the first time he had realized just how skilled of a Legilimens the Headmaster really was. He had been able to read Snape's insecurities without having to make eye-contact, a skill very few had. No others save the Dark Lord himself had been able to do that.
It was also the first time anyone besides his mother or Lily had admitted to trusting him.
Snape opened his eyes and rose to his feet. As always, his emotions when thinking of Dumbledore were conflicted. He could not deny the hatred he felt, the anger the bubbled underneath the surface, the fury at everything he had ever been asked to do. And yet, despite all that, there was still that part of him that remembered the Headmaster with something akin to friendship. Dumbledore remained one of the very few who had ever trusted him so implicitly, who had forgiven him for past mistakes and convinced him that redemption was possible.
Even Lily had not done that. Even Lily had never been able to forgive him for that one word he'd uttered.
A wry smile tugged at his lips as he thought to himself that of course Dumbledore would have believed in second chances. If anything Rita Skeeter had written was true, the Headmaster had been in need of a second chance just as much as anyone else.
He was vaguely aware of the other presence that appeared in his hut, of the footsteps that fell on the floor, echoing slightly. He didn't turn around, but continued to stare at the fire until a voice called him out of his thoughts.
"What are you doing?"
He turned and looked at the woman standing in the doorway of the room. With one eyebrow raised, he asked, "What do you mean?"
"I did not save you from death by Nagini's poison and agree to be your Secret Keeper just to have you kill yourself on a suicide mission now."
Snape sighed. "I know," he said. "And I am sure. I know what I am doing."
"I do, too," the woman argued. "You are risking everything for a woman who still believes you to be a traitor."
Snape shook his head. "No. I am risking everything for a woman who was once one of the few allies I had." The transfiguration Professor had never been friendly, but she was polite and cordial, and she had accepted Dumbledore's assurances without question. She had trusted Snape for many of the years they'd been there, right up until the very end when he had been forced to make his final move and take Dumbledore's life. She hated him now, that much was true. But she had trusted him once, and it was for that woman, the one who had placed her own safety in his hands, that he would risk his life.
The woman gave a dark chuckle. "You never had allies. You had a best friend who turned on you for a single mistake. You had a Headmaster who used you for his own ends. And you had a friend who cared only for her son's safety, and not for your own."
Snape met her gaze without flinching. "I made far more than just one mistake," he said firmly. "Lily was right about one thing. I saw her as different from all the others who my Housemates tormented, and I shouldn't have. None of them truly deserved what the Dark Lord had planned for them. And I should have known that."
The woman tilted her head to the side. "And the others?"
"Narcissa Malfoy is a petty, materialistic, egotistical witch," Snape said quietly, "and she is one of the bravest woman I have ever met." He paused, then asked her with a challenging stare, "Would you not risk everything and everyone for your child?"
The woman didn't answer.
"Why are you asking me this?" Snape continued. "You never expressed displeasure in my interactions with Narcissa before."
The woman smiled, the first true smile that had graced her face since entering the hovel. "To make sure you could defend your actions. If you can argue with me that there is a reason to do all this, then I will believe you, I will trust your judgment. But I had to be certain that you could argue it. I had to know that you were doing this out of something more than a misplaced sense of loyalty to people who never really existed."
"I am not blind to anyone's flaws," Snape murmured, "least of all my own. But I am... convinced... that I am doing the right thing."
The woman nodded. "Fine." Another pause, then, "You didn't defend Dumbledore."
Snape glanced back at the flames.
"My answer, Severus, is that I trust you."
"There was never any need," Snape said finally. "I... I trust him. He... he trusted me."
"Did he now?" she asked, her voice suddenly bitter, almost a sneer.
He looked at her blankly for a moment, then said coolly, "You've changed, you know."
She smirked. "So have you."
Snape slowly crawled to his feet and reached up gingerly to touch the two fresh punctures in his neck. He could still feel the icy cold venom in his veins, but at least he was still alive, if only barely. He looked towards the woman who had saved him, his mouth opening slightly in surprise.
"The battle still rages," she said.
He looked past her, towards the path that lead from the Shrieking Shack back to the castle grounds. Potter and his friends would probably just now be joining the fray. He wondered, would he have time to complete his task? He must make Potter understand what he had to do to win this war. As much as he loathed the idea of sending Lily's son to his death, he knew there wasn't any other choice. This was simply the way it had to be.
He pushed past the woman, moving slowly, his entire body struggling with the effort of staying upright. It was not far to the end of the tunnel, but his breath came in labored gasps as he scrambled from the base of the tree and into the open air.
Up ahead, he could see Potter, flanked by Granger and Weasley, heading towards the school.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, summoning the last vestiges of strength. Then he pointed his wand at Potter and whispered, "Ponus memoria."
Up ahead, Potter stumbled. He reached out to steady himself on Weasley's shoulder, and Granger turned to him in alarm.
"Harry?" Snape heard her ask, voice trembling with worry.
"I'm alright," Potter said, straightening slowly. "I just..." He trailed off and frowned, looking around the grounds. Fortunately, Snape had found the presence of mind to make himself invisible, and so Harry's gaze past right over him.
"You sure you're okay, mate?" came Weasley's questioning voice.
"Yeah." Potter turned back to his friends. "I just... I just figured something out." He sounded conflicted, as though unsure if he should elaborate. And beneath that, his tone also carried a hint of despair, of emotion welling from a sudden, unpleasant, and thoroughly unavoidable realization.
Snape watched him go with bittersweet sadness. "I'm sorry, Lily," he murmured.
Snape shook his head to clear his thoughts. He had cast that spell, fully believing Potter would die at the Dark Lord's hand. He hadn't been entirely sure how that would stop the Dark Lord, but Dumbledore had sworn it would, and the Headmaster had been right. As usual. He stared once again at the fire, wishing there was a way to explain his loyalty to this woman. He knew the Malfoys too questioned how he could have been so trusting of the Headmaster. And it was difficult to explain, but...
He had been trusted by so few for his entire life. The three Malfoys, for a time Lily Evans, and, ironically, his two masters, Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord's trust had been ill-founded, and Lily's trust had faded. The Malfoys had trusted him for the longest period of time, but had often made requests of that trust that left him in a difficult position. Dumbledore's trust had been placed on him solely because of his love for Lily, and perhaps that trust had been too much. He had been asked to do such difficult things, and with little regard for his own opinion of them.
But Dumbledore had trusted him with the most important aspect of his life.
Hogwarts.
He had given Hogwarts to Snape in the hopes that he could protect the students from the Dark Lord's more ruthless tendencies.
That one action spoke volumes more than any words the Headmaster could have uttered. For him to trust anyone, least of all a reformed Death Eater, with the hundreds of students at Hogwarts... How could he explain to someone who had been trusted by her peers what that had felt like? She simply wouldn't be able to understand that he was willing to put his trust in someone simply because that person had trusted him. She'd never been in that position.
On his own, he was never sure he could have made the decision to sacrifice Lily's son. And yet, whether anyone chose to admit it or not, it was a sacrifice that had to be made. Because, in the greater scheme of things, one single life could not compare to the entire world and all those who would have suffered under the Dark Lord's reign. And although he had been the one forced to carry out the mission, he could not deny that he was glad he had not been the one to make the initial decision. He did not envy Dumbledore the types of choices he had been forced to make while fighting that war.
Snape sighed. He hated the old man with a virulent passion... and not a day went by that he didn't miss him. Conflicted, as always, he turned back to his guest and said firmly, "I know what I am doing." And he prayed to God or whatever being was watching over them all that his words were not a lie.
Harry rubbed his forehead with one hand and glanced around the shadowed grounds. He could feel the tension in the air, could feel Hermione and Ron at his side, waiting for the inevitable confrontation. He frowned, thinking he had heard the sound of distant footsteps behind him, but before he could comment on that, something painful lodged itself in his chest, and he stumbled forward, swallowing back fear, and caught himself on Ron's shoulder.
"Harry?" Hermione asked, terrified.
He looked at her, but other thoughts were running through his mind.
The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, the diadem, the snake... that was five. The twisted remnant of soul resting inside Voldemort himself, that was six. What was the seventh?
What was it Dumbledore had told him during his second year? The Headmaster had said that he could speak Parseltongue because Voldemort had unknowingly transferred a bit of himself into Harry the night he had tried to kill him as a baby. And what was a Horcrux? A bit of someone's soul. A bit of someone's soul that was implanted in an object after the person had committed a murder.
His parents.
The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, the diadem, the snake... and him.
He blinked once and said, "I'm alright. I just..." He trailed off and glanced around the grounds. There was no one there, and yet he had the strangest sensation that he was being watched. He let out a slow breath.
"You sure you're alright, mate?" Ron pressed, worry evident in his tone.
He swallowed again, an uneasy movement.
The only way to kill Voldemort was to destroy all the Horcruxes first. All of them... including himself. But if he died... how would he stop Voldemort? Or perhaps that was the point, perhaps all he was meant to do was die, and then... Voldemort would be mortal. And perhaps he would die as well, his soul so fragmented by everything he had done.
"Yeah," he said hollowly, looking at Ron, trying to memorize his best friend's features. His eyes turned to Hermione, and he wondered if he would ever see them again. "I just... I just figured something out."
He took a deep breath and walked determinedly forward. He had to do this, as much as he didn't want to. It was the only way... and he had to save the world.
Harry fingered his wand lightly, running his thumb and forefinger over the wood. Shadows crept along the Forest floor, and he could hear the distant hum of insects, and the occasional call of an owl. He was wearing the invisibility cloak, having wrapped it tightly around himself to prevent Snape or Kingsley from seeing anything. He hadn't decided yet how he would act, and he didn't want to give away his presence until exactly the right moment. He had to choose first if he would wait and see what Kingsley planned to do, or if he would attack instantly.
He glanced up at the moon.
He couldn't help thinking back to Andromeda Tonks' words. She told him that his mother and Snape had been friends, that they'd grown up together. And yet, what he had seen in Snape's pensieve had clearly shown something entirely different. How could Snape have betrayed his mother like that? He couldn't even fathom the idea of selling out Ron or Hermione. In fact, he doubted he would ever even be able to betray Aunt Petunia or Dudley, no matter how much he may dislike them.
And yet Snape had betrayed his childhood friend to her death.
He had been so eager for fame and glory that he had destroyed everything in his path. How many had died at his hand? How many more would follow if he was not stopped now?
Unbidden, a memory came to mind, a memory of a conversation he had had with Hermione only a few months after the end of the war.
"Harry, please. Listen to reason. If you keep running after Snape, he will kill you. He's already taken your parents. Don't give him your life as well."
He turned to glare at her in fury and frustration. "You want me to just give up? And what makes you think I won't be able to kill him first?"
"Is that what you want?" Hermione asked, looking horrified. "To just kill him in cold blood?"
"Like he murdered my parents and Dumbledore! Of course it is what I want." He shook his head and took a few steps away from her, unable to comprehend why she couldn't accept what he wanted to do. What was so wrong with killing Snape? It was justice.
"It isn't what you parents would have wanted," Hermione protested.
"How do you know that?" he snarled.
"Because they would never have wanted you to become a killer on their account!" Hermione cried, and her words echoed in the suddenly still room. Ron and Ginny, who had remained quiet throughout the argument, looked up sharply at her words, but she was staring at Harry, only at him, with a sort of desperation on her face. "Don't you see, Harry? Don't you remember how a Horcrux is made? By killing someone, Harry. That's how you split your soul! You defeated Voldemort without actually casting a killing curse. And now you want to undo that by killing Snape? Your parents would never have wanted that!"
"Sometime's killing is justified, Hermione," Ginny said softly, looking between her boyfriend and her Muggle-born friend.
Hermione turned to Ginny, defiant. "In self-defense. In a battle. Because you have to. Not because you hunted someone down for revenge. Let the Aurors find him. Let him be tried by the Wizengamot. That is justice."
"Why don't you wait and get back to me on this topic when it is someone in your family who has died," Harry spat bitterly.
Hermione stepped back as though she had been slapped. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away. "One of these days, Harry," she said in a cool tone, "you will remember that I was the one who believed you weren't the Heir of Slytherin despite all those rumors during our second year. And I was the one who stayed by your side in your fourth year when no one, including Ron, believed that you hadn't put your name in the Goblet. Or that I stood up for your during your fifth year when the Ministry was doing everything possible to make you look crazy. And that I was there with you every single step of the way when you were hunting down the Horcruxes. One of these days, Harry, you will remember that I have always been on your side and had your best interests at heart." Without another word, she turned and walked from the room.
Harry watched her go in a mutinous silence, but then Ron's voice cut into his thoughts.
"You know, mate, she has a point."
"What?" Harry exploded, turning to him in fury.
"Well..." Ron hedged for a bit, then said quietly, "Remember what you said when you stopped Sirius and Lupin from killing Wormtail in the Shack during your third year?" He hesitated again, then pressed, "You told them that you didn't reckon your father would want them to become murderers. Not because of him."
Harry tore his gaze away from the night sky and peered into the gloom. The sick feeling twisting in the pit of his stomach did nothing to calm his nerves, but he refused to think over the bubbling guilt he felt. He had made his decision three years ago, and he wasn't going to go back on it now. Snape deserved this, and his parents and Dumbledore deserved to be avenged.
The silence was broken by the sound of a footstep on the ground, a twig breaking with a sharp crack beneath someone's boot. Harry whipped around, holding his breath, waiting. It took only a few moments, and then he saw the outline of a person coming into view.
It was Kingsley.
He had his wand held out in front of him, clearly waiting for something. Or someone. His entire body was tense with anticipation, his eyes darting back and forth through the dense trees. He turned a full circle once or twice, then paused and let his gaze move past the invisible Harry towards the castle outlined against the starry sky.
Something moved in the shadows, and Kingsley whipped around, extending his wand. He murmured quietly under his breath and a bright light burst from the very tip of the wand, illuminating the surrounding area. A figure moved forward, a silhouette barely discernible from between the trees. And then the person stepped out into the light.
And for the first time in three years, after all the fruitless searching and frustrated dead ends, Harry found himself staring at Severus Snape.