Title: All That Glitters
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Summary: As one confrontation between Light and Dark comes to a violent end, another one begins in a blaze of noise and commotion.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Confrontations
They walked into the manor silently, each tightly grasping their wands. The silence was deafening in its intensity, and a sense of unease hung over them like a heavy cloud or fog, muting everything around and casting the world into a haze.
Harry could practically hear his own heart beating, the heaving thud pounding rhythmically against his rib cage. Hermione continued to wave her wand, muttering under her breath as she cast protection spell after protection spell. Harry knew she was waiting for a surprise attack, for an ambush of some kind. But they made it across the grounds and through the main set of double doors without encountering anything.
No attacks.
Just… silence.
Stillness.
Emptiness.
But they were here. Somewhere within this manor, Runcorn and Yaxley were lying wait, prepared to do anything necessary to end the threat to their plans.
Harry paused at the doors, trailing his hand softly across the smooth wood. It was damp to the touch, despite the heat of summers in France. The stone beneath his feet was cold as well, the cold seeping into his boots. He tilted his head back and looked up towards the turrets rising into the sky.
"Harry? You alright, mate?"
He turned sharply and looked over at Ron. "Yeah," he muttered. "Let's go."
And he placed his hand on the door handle and pushed it open. As he expected, it wasn't locked, and the door swung inwards, revealing a dark hallway stretching back into the house. They stepped through, and Harry shut the door behind him, plunging them all into darkness.
"Lumos," Malfoy whispered, and a bright light spread out from his wand, illuminating the corridor. The floor was carpeted in a plush green rug that was worn in several places. The walls were lined with portraits, most of whom were sleeping. The wallpaper was faded and streaked with signs of moisture, and the air was filled with dust motes, tiny specks suspended in midair, caught in the gleam of Malfoy's light.
"This place really hasn't been taken care of," Hermione said with a faintly disapproving tone.
"Not the time to comment on housekeeping," Ron retorted, rolling his eyes at her. Hermione jabbed him in the side and he moaned in response.
"Quiet," Malfoy hissed. "I hear something."
They froze, all listening, but Harry could hear nothing but the sound of their own breathing. He opened his mouth to say something, but Malfoy shot him a warning glare, and Harry bit his tongue, waiting. A moment later, he heard the same noise, the faint slithering of something in the walls.
"Snake?" Ron whispered, looking briefly at Harry.
Harry shrugged. "If it is, it isn't talking," he murmured under his breath. He couldn't hear any voices, although he knew that not all snakes spoke. Particularly not if they were trying to sneak up on their prey.
"Where are they?" Hermione asked softly. "Why haven't they attacked yet?"
"Maybe they're waiting for something," Ron suggested.
"Or maybe they aren't going to attack us at all," Malfoy countered. "My mother said there are Dark Creatures and the remnants of Dark Magic in this place. Those might be enough to kill us even without Runcorn and Yaxley attacking us."
"But they are here," Harry said, glancing around. "Somewhere."
Something moved at the end of the hallway, travelling with the same slithering noise. Hermione drew her wand up to shoulder height, holding it out in front of her in defense. Harry squinted into the gloom, but could see nothing.
Then it moved.
The outline grew closer at an alarming rate, and the thing managed to travel the entire length of the hallway before Harry could fully comprehend what was happening. It drew up before them, half-hidden by shadows, and Hermione jabbed her wand forward in a violent manner. The hall burst into color as a burst of red light left her wand, and the thing fell backwards with a eerie howl.
It didn't take long for it to attack again, however, and this time it drew fully into the light. It had a long head, two heavily-lidded eyes underneath a row of heavy scales. The body, sinewy and snakelike, ended in a sharp tail that flipped around behind it as it moved. It had two forelegs with sharp claws, but no hind legs.
The powerful tail lashed, striking Ron across the chest, and the redhead crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain. At the same time, the claws lashed out towards Hermione, and the jaws snapped at Malfoy. Hermione just barely jumped out of the way, stumbling back against the wall, and Malfoy ducked underneath the head. Harry flicked his wand through the air with a hoarse shout, "Stupefy!"
The creature dodged the attack and turned back. From the floor, Ron swished and flicked his wand and cried, "Wingardium leviosa." Jabbing his wand towards the ceiling, he sent the creature spinning into the air and crashing heavily against the ceiling.
It fell to the floor, momentarily stunned, and Harry sent another stunner. This one connected with the creature, and it went limp on the carpet.
Ron crawled back to his feet and looked quickly at Hermione. "Are you alright?"
She gave a wan smile. "Fine."
"What is that thing?" Harry questioned, looking first at the snake-like animal, and then glancing between Hermione and Malfoy. They both shrugged, obviously having never seen that type of creature before, and Harry looked down the hallway again, wondering what else was lying in wait for them.
"Come on," he said, and the four of them continued walking.
They reached the end of the hallway, and found a staircase that spiraled upwards. Slowly, cautiously, Harry began to climb the stairs. As he walked, he could not help but think back to his last confrontation with Runcorn and Yaxley.
Headmistress McGonagall had died. That flash of green light would be forever etched into his mind, a reminder of what he had been unable to prevent. People had died, people always died in a war. But somehow that death had seemed so much more real, so much more vivid, than all the others.
He tried not to think about the memories he had seen, about Snape truly being on the right side. He tried not to think about the fact that Snape had loved his mother, that the potions Master had devoted his life to her memory. He tried not to think about any of it, but the memories wouldn't stay locked behind his mental walls. They leaked out, seeping through the cracks, distracting him.
He blinked and refocused on the staircase.
And then the stairs gave way beneath him.
He fell, plummeting through space towards the ground below. Pieces of wood, jagged at the edges and lined with a thin layer or rot and mold, fell all around him. As the floor slammed into him, knocking the wind from his body, he rolled over and groaned, flopping against the person next to him.
A sharp, jarring pain shot through his arm as he tried to sit up, but he ignored it and looked up at the ceiling far above. Then he glanced to his side and saw Ron slowly crawling to his hands and knees.
"Where are Hermione and the snake?"
Harry felt his stomach sink at Ron's question. He looked around quickly, but it did not take more than just a simple glance to see that he and Ron were alone. Which meant that Hermione and Malfoy were still on the staircase, by themselves.
Malfoy was on their side, Harry thought to himself, and Hermione could take care of herself. There was nothing to worry about. Right?
"We need to find a way back to them," Ron said, standing slowly.
Harry followed suit. "Lumos," he muttered, and light streamed from his wand. The room was circular, of moderate size, and had a single door. Harry looked up again. "Hermione?" he called. "Can you hear me?"
There was no answer from above.
Ron rubbed the back of his head. "How far did we fall?" he asked wearily.
On a whim, Harry sent a burst of red sparks into the air. They travelled upwards, but then collided against something invisible and dispersed, spreading out harmlessly through the air.
"It isn't how far we fell," Harry answered grimly. "There is a shield of some kind in between us and the staircase." He frowned thoughtfully, trying to determine the implications of that statement. It most likely trapped both magic and sound within, meaning that unless they found another way out of the room, they would be trapped here with no escape.
He glanced at the door.
And at just that moment, it swung open.
Without thinking, Harry waved his wand and muttered the disarming spell, but it was blocked easily by the man who emerged into the room.
"Good reflexes," Runcorn sneered, "but hardly good enough. And so we meet again, Potter." His eyes swept back and forth over the two wizards before him, a calculating gleam creeping into his expression. "I must say, I am most impressed by your deductive abilities, I did not think you would find us here." Then he smirked, and added, "But no matter. As usual, your Gryffindor foolishness has lead you to race directly into a trap. You will not escape me this time."
In unison, Harry and Ron sent jinxes towards Runcorn, but he deftly blocked both of them. In return, he sent one of his own, jabbing his wand downwards in a sharp gesture. The curse was silent, so Harry had no idea what had been used against him, but it was powerful enough to throw him backwards and off his feet even though he had lifted a shield to deflect it.
He hit the ground hard, the breath leaving his body once more in a sudden rush. Again, he felt the sharp pain in his arm, but it was not too intense, and he continued to ignore it. His gaze fixed instead on Runcorn, and he felt a fury rise within him.
"Murderer!" Harry snarled, his face suffused with blood. He was back on his feet in an instant, ready to fight. "Traitor!"
"Traitor?" Runcorn repeated in a mocking voice. "To whom do you think I owe my loyalty? Certainly not your precious Headmistress." His gaze moved to Ron, and he added, "It is you who are the traitor, Potter, fraternizing with filth like that."
"Ron is a million times better than you will ever be!" Harry retorted, and beside him, Ron flushed a bright pink that clashed with his hair.
"His family is nothing but dirt," Runcorn answered, goading the two younger wizards. "Impoverished, good-for-nothing, blood-traitors. You disappoint me, Potter. I thought you had better taste in friends."
"I see people for what they really are," Harry answered furiously. "I am not blinded by your pureblood prejudice!"
"No," Runcorn shot back, "you are blinded by your own prejudices. What fool walks into a situation he knows is a trap? Only a Gryffindor too stupid to see the truth that lies before him. You were better off staying away from us."
"You murdered McGonagall and framed Kinglsey for a crime he did not commit," Ron interjected then, eyes blazing angrily at the insults that had been thrown upon his family. "Do you really think you can get away with it?"
"I already did," Runcorn sneered, and launched another attack on Harry.
While Harry countered the blow and retaliated with a curse of his own, Ron sent several jinxes at Runcorn. The combined attack was enough to temporarily unnerve the Dark wizard, and he backed away from them, his expression twisted in anger and unease.
Ron pressed the advantage, but Runcorn regained his footing and hissed, "Sedere incendio!" Almost immediately, the air around them grew hot, and a heavy smoke floated above their heads. Harry's eyes began to sting, and his breath came in short gasps.
Ron fell to his knees, unable to stand.
There was no flame, no fire, but the heat was oppressive, and through watery tears, Harry could barely make out Runcorn laughing cruelly, his face twisted in exhilarated triumph.
He began to speak again, his words echoing throughout the room.
"I've waited a long time for this, Potter. If you had just stayed out of the way, we wouldn't have bothered with you. I just wanted Snape and the Malfoys, but you and Shacklebolt had to get involved. You let your bloated sense of confidence lead you where you did not belong!"
He sounded almost deranged, Harry thought. Not quite as insane as Bellatrix, but still…
The Boy Who Lived waved his wand again, trying in vain to clear the smoke. Another rush of spells flew through the air as the battled turned dangerous, vicious, deadly.
Runcorn continued talking. "I saw Snape. I saw him during the final battle, saw how he cast protection shields around the members of the Order. He stayed in the shadows, and the fools never saw him, never realized that he was helping their misguided cause! But he did help, and he'll pay for that now. I'll watch him suffer, I'll laugh as the Dementor's suck the life out of him, stripping away his soul. Just wait and see, Potter. He'll get what's coming to him, and so will Narcissa Malfoy! Did she really think she could get away with lying to the Dark Lord? She brought about his fall, but she'll suffer as well. She will indeed."
More curses, more defensive measures. Ron was back on his feet, joining in as well, but Runcorn still held his own.
Harry blinked rapidly, barely able to comprehend what Runcorn had been saying. His words were spoken quickly, pushed together with all the cadence of a madman. But the truth was there, underneath the hatred and bigotry. The truth that Harry did not really want to confront.
Snape was on their side.
His anger grew, but he did not let it consume him. Instead, he twisted sharply, his mind focusing on the one spell that could channel his hatred.
"Sectumsempra!"
The gash appeared across Runcorn's chest, and surprised filled the wizard's face as he stumbled backwards. The wound was not deep enough to kill, but it was painful enough to momentarily disable him, and Harry sent another quick spell, stunning the enemy.
Then he grabbed Ron and yanked him from the room.
They still had to find Hermione.
Hermione stared at the broken staircase before her, horror etched onto her features. Malfoy had grabbed her arm moments before, hauling her backwards and away from the rotten wood. That action had saved her from falling through into the space below, but Harry and Ron had still disappeared, and she could not see them anywhere.
"There's something down there," Malfoy said after a moment of peering through the gloom. "A shield of some type. It is preventing us from getting to the other two. We're going to need to find a different way."
Hermione nodded uncertainly, the rational part of her brain taking over as she analyzed the situation and forced herself to keep the panic at bay.
"It looks like some sort of basement down there." She looked behind her, down the staircase. "Let's retrace our steps, back the way we came. Maybe there is another staircase somewhere, one that leads down."
Malfoy followed her lead down the stairs, but when they reached the bottom floor once more, both were dismayed to find that there was nothing in the dark to indicate another set of stairs anywhere.
"There were some doors further back," Malfoy offered finally. "We could try those."
Hermione grimaced. Opening random doors in a Dark Manor seemed like a very bad idea, but what other choice did they have? She shrugged half-heartedly, and the two walked through the dark towards the first door.
Malfoy placed his hand on the handle, gave Hermione one quick look, then yanked the door open.
Almost immediately, the curling vines of some strange plant surged towards them. It was dark green, threaded through with dark blue lines. It curled tightly around Malfoy's arms, pulling him forward, towards the room beyond. The more he struggled, the more tightly it wound itself around him, constricting his movements, cutting off his attempts at escape.
Praying that it was some kind of Devil's Snare, Hermione sent a burst of fire towards the plant. To her relief, it drew back, releasing Malfoy, and the Slytherin quickly slammed the door shut, then fell to his knees, gasping.
"Thanks," he muttered finally.
Hermione shrugged again, uncomfortable with his display of gratitude. Still, she had just saved him…
The next door they came to, she decided to open. Malfoy stood back, wand at the ready, and Hermione pulled the door slowly towards her, half-expecting another plant to jump out at them.
Instead, it was just an empty room, a parlor of some type. Malfoy extended his wand, further illuminating the room, and as the shadows receded, Hermione found she could see several bookshelves lined against the wall, a plush carpet along the floor, and several armchairs of varying styles and colors.
It was not a parlor, she reflected, but a library.
Malfoy slammed the door shut and muttered, "That was anticlimactic."
"Still more rooms to look in," Hermione countered, and they moved on to the next door.
Hermione opened that one as well, and froze. The air was cold, so cold, and something was moving towards her. It rustled, floating over the ground, and she heard the echoes of screams in her mind. She saw Harry, his limp body held tightly in Hagrid's arms as the half-Giant sobbed uncontrollably, she heard Ron yelling at them as he stormed out of the tent and into the night…
Something was pulling her downwards, forcing her to forget anything good that had ever happened…
She couldn't fight it, even though a small voice in her head told her it had to be a Dementor, and all she needed to do was cast a single, simple spell…
But the cold seeped into her bones, chilling her to the very core…
Voldemort was uttering a high pitched laugh as he cornered her and Harry in Bathilda Bagshot's rundown house… Fear and terror rushed through her, freezing her blood, filling her with despair…
"Granger!"
She blinked and opened her eyes. The cold was gone, and Malfoy stood over her, shaking her by the shoulders, his pale face filled with what looked like actual concern. She was sprawled across the floor, half-lying down, half-propped against the wall.
"It was just a Dementor," Malfoy said finally. "It's gone." He turned and nodded towards the room, and she noticed that he had shut the door as well, effectively blocking off the devastating effects of the foul creature.
Hermione inhaled sharply and rose unsteadily to her feet. She had no idea why she had reacted so strongly, but for some reason she had not been able to find the strength to fight off the thing. At least she had not been alone.
"Thanks," she muttered, blushing slightly.
They turned towards the next door, but it burst open before they could approach it, and Harry and Ron scrambled into the hallway.
All four froze when they saw each other.
The Ron strode forward and hugged Hermione tightly, wrapping his arms around her still shaking figure. She nearly collapsed into his arms, and that alarmed Ron more than anything else. He drew back, a question in his eyes.
"I'm okay," Hermione murmured. "Just a little shaken up by a Dementor. Malfoy got rid of it."
There was a tense silence, then Ron said to Malfoy, "Thanks."
Another tense silence, then Malfoy replied, "Your welcome."
A third tense silence, then Harry said, "I stunned Runcorn. He's downstairs, in the basement. We don't need to worry about Yaxley, we only need one of them to prove Kingsley's innocence." As an afterthought, he added begrudgingly, "And Snape's innocence as well."
"Then let's get him and get out of here," Malfoy suggested anxiously.
No one wanted to stay in that place any longer than necessary.
Hannigan paced back and forth across the floor of his office. Runcorn was supposed to have checked in with him by now, to discuss the next matter in their plan. He had yet to hear from the other wizard, and Yaxley had been impossible to reach.
He was feeling worried, uneasy. The deal with Lucius Malfoy weighed heavily on him, and he had no idea how he would explain it to his other two co-conspirators. They would not be happy, particularly since Narcissa had been their target all along. But what else could he do? Malfoy had not been lying about his knowledge, or his willingness to blackmail anyone who might be useful to him, and Hannigan could not take the chance that this become public.
Maybe he could hold them off, he mused silently. Promise them Narcissa Malfoy eventually. After all, once he had gained enough popularity among the public, he wouldn't need Runcorn and Yaxley anymore. They thought they were pulling his strings, and he'd let them think that. But eventually…
Eventually, he could get rid of them as well.
He sighed. Subterfuge was easy enough on a small scale, but the risks he was taking now left him ill at ease. Not for the first time, he wished this was already over.
He thought, briefly, about Harry Potter. He had never wanted any harm to come to the Boy Who Lived. He was too valuable a symbol to be so easily destroyed, and his death would not help anyone. When they had made the plan, Runcorn and Yaxley had agreed that only Snape and the Malfoys would be targeted.
But now McGonagall was dead. And who knew what would happen to Potter?
So what now?
Shacklebolt was an unfortunate victim of circumstance, necessary collateral damage in the takeover. It was a pity, but it was too late to undo that anyway.
Still…
The entire situation left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he could not help but wonder just how honest his two compatriots had been with him. Had they known, even from the beginning, that this would happen?
He had no doubt that they would have lied to him if they felt it would serve their purpose.
He clenched his hands into fists, his fingernails biting into his palms, his knuckles turning white in anger.
But, he reminded himself, he could get rid of them eventually. Turnabout was fair play, after all.
He chewed his lip. Runcorn still hadn't contacted him.
He couldn't wait any longer. He had to move on to the next phase, had to strike while the iron was still hot, while the wizarding world still cried out for revenge.
He summoned his assistant.
The man, short and thin, with a narrow face and a shifty smirk, appeared almost instantaneously, sliding in through the door and shutting it behind him. "Yes, sir?" he asked.
"Gather the Wizongamot. Begin the trial of Kingsley Shacklebolt," he ordered. "I want him convicted of treason within twenty-four hours."
"Consider it done," the assistant answered with a nod of his head.
The court room was filled. Every single seat was taken, and the back was crowded as well, standing room only for those unlucky enough to miss out on seats. The air was filled with noise, with shouting and savage cries, with anger nearly palpable in its intensity. There were flashes as cameras snapped shots of the room, catching scenes and tableaus for the newspaper.
Everyone was waiting, watching.
Hannigan stood the side, his eyes scanning the place with grim satisfaction. The Wizengamot had assembled, and they all sat in their raised seats, silent and calm, but their eyes reflected coldhearted vengeance.
And then a hush fell over the room as the far doors swung open and two Dementors entered, carrying a weary-looking Kingsley between them. He stumbled over his own feet as they dragged him to the accused's chair and forced him to sit. The metal chains curled around his wrists, magically locking him in place.
The crowd started to scream.
He did not look at them, but stared straight ahead, towards the Wizengamot. They were the ones who would decide his fate.
Then he looked past them, to Hannigan. Their eyes met, one set filled with loathing, the other with unease and vague regrets.
And then the trial began.