Title: All That Glitters
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Author's note: The memory of Dumbledore's in this chapter – the one that Andromeda shows in the Pensieve – is taken directly from The Prince's Tale in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. For that reason, I did not rewrite the entire thing, as I imagine we have all already read it, and don't need to read it again. It will be clear which memory I am speaking of as the characters do summarize and discuss it.
Summary: Because in the end, blood is always thicker than water.
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost.
Chapter Thirty-One: Those Who Wander
"Oh… wow… do that again, Andie! Do that again!"
Andromeda rolled her eyes at her sister's delight. Narcissa was still such a child, and could be quite a nuisance. She'd recently taken to following her sisters everywhere, wanting to join in all the fun. Bellatrix had managed to rid herself of the exasperating tag-along with a few harsh words, but Andromeda could not quite bring herself to treat her sister with such open contempt.
Still… she was annoying.
Narcissa was grinning, lips spread wide to reveal two rows of perfect white teeth. Her blonde hair was swept back in two pigtails, accentuating the lightness of her eyes. It never ceased to amaze Andromeda that the littlest Black could look so unlike either of her sisters, or really anyone else in the family.
With a sigh, she looked down at her wand. She had just conjured a burst of lights from her wand, sending them sprawling through the air. It was more to amuse herself than to show off, and, in fact, she had not even been aware that Narcissa was hiding in the shadows near the door, watching her.
She wasn't supposed to practice magic outside of Hogwarts, of course, but it wasn't like anyone would report her. The Ministry had no way of knowing that she was the one performing the magic, and not one of her parents. Bellatrix didn't care enough to attempt to get her in trouble, neither of her parents ever really bothered paying attention to her, and Narcissa was far too enthralled by the pretty lights to realize that her sister was doing something wrong.
"Go away, Cissy," Andromeda said heavily, stowing her wand in the pocket buried within the folds of her robes.
"Can't you do it again? Please?" Narcissa questioned, coming further into the room despite her sister's irritated glare. "Can you show me? Can I try? I won't tell anyone I used your wand, I promise!"
"No, Cissy," Andromeda said with a weary sigh. "You can use a wand when you are old enough to go to Hogwarts." She was a teenager, and the last thing she wanted was her kid sister pestering her about cheap magic tricks.
"But I wanna…"
"Yeah, well… you don't always get what you want," Andromeda cut in with a frown.
"Oh, come on, Andie," Narcissa pressed. "You're only home for a little bit during Christmas break. Can't you show me more magic? Please? Pretty, pretty please?" She was standing in front of her sister now, her eyes wide and begging, her expression filled with absolute adoration for her sister.
Things change. People change. Andromeda knew that now.
They were standing in a small chamber that adjoined the courtroom. Kingsley had been removed from the courtroom, probably taken back to a holding cell to await the final outcome of this meeting. The room held only her, Aurora Borealis, Hannigan, Blanche Trudea, and two other members of the Wizengamot she did not recognize.
They formed a circle around a central table. And set on the table was a silver basin, a Pensieve.
Andromeda stepped forward and uncapped the vial she still held tightly in her hand, tipping it over and letting the silver substance slid into the stone basin. Almost at once, Dumbledore's face appeared, haggard and tired, line of worry etched deeply into his face. His voice filled the room, seeming to echo through the room.
"Now, I should have thought the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?"
Andromeda stared at it for a moment, at the swirling features that blended back into the silver, fading from view. Then she lifted her gaze to meet Hannigan's ashen features, and saw something flicker in the depths of his eyes.
Was it fear? She wasn't sure. She held his gaze for a beat, then turned her attention to the others.
"There it is," she said simply. "You may see it for yourself."
There was just the slightest bit of hesitation, and then Madam Borealis, the two other Wizengamot members, and Hannigan all placed their hands on the edge of the Pensieve and leaned forward, allowing themselves to be sucked into the memory.
It was odd, Andromeda thought to herself, watching someone else slip into a memory. Their entire body was first surrounded by the same silvery glow that emanated from the Pensieve, and then they practically dissolved before her eyes, fading into nothing as the glow was pulled back into the basin, taking the onlookers with it.
She was left alone in the room with Ms. Trudea.
The council for the defense looked at her, a vague, unfocused look in her eyes. She seemed confused, unable to quite figure out what she was supposed to be doing. Andromeda felt a sudden wave of sympathy for the other woman, knowing that, had their positions been reversed, she would have been furious to find herself trapped like this.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, too softly for Ms. Trudea to hear. "But there was no other way."
She wasn't entirely sure that that statement was true. There might have been another way, something else she could have done. If only she had come to the decision earlier, if only she hadn't wanted until the last minute to intervene. But, she supposed, there was no point dwelling on what might have been. She could not change the past, no matter how much she may wish to.
She had come too late to think up another plan, and they had been running out of time. She had to intervene then and there, and that meant getting Ms. Trudea on her side, getting her to interrupt the trial before it could reach its conclusion.
Given that the council for the defense was so clearly on the side of the prosecution, she doubted that was anything she could have said or done that would have convinced Ms. Trudea to call her to the stand, except…
She was a Slytherin. That did not change, would never change. She was cunning, she was lax with moral absolutes, she was ambitious and driven, she was…
She turned away, forcing the thoughts back. The Imperius Curse was wrong, she knew that. It could get her sent to Azkaban for life. But she had done what she needed to do, and perhaps using an Unforgivable in a crowded courtroom had been almost foolishly rash – a very Gryffindor thing to do, she thought with a snort – but it had gotten the job done.
She was just lucky that she had been able to send the spell silently, lucky that no one had noticed the sudden rush of cool air, the abrupt unfocused wandering of Ms. Trudea's gaze before the magic of her spell had brought the other woman completely under her control. Although, she had the slightest suspicion that Kingsley had noticed, had figured out what she had done. Not that he would speak up against her, certainly not if she managed to free him from this farce of a trial.
It felt wrong, what she had done. Taking away free will… she, more than anyone else in her family, understood the importance of being able to think for oneself. She understood the consequences, good and bad, that came with refusing to follow someone else, refusing to let the crowd sweep her along, refusing to blend in just because everyone else wanted her to. She had always despised the Imperius Curse because of that, because she knew what it was like to have others trying to make her choices for her.
And, in a moment of fear, she had turned and used that same curse on someone else. And for what?
For a sister who would never again look at her with adoration in her pale eyes.
"Andie! Andie, stop it!"
The words echoed in the hallway, bouncing off the walls and ceiling, reverberating through the air as they surrounded Andromeda. She paused, just long enough to turn back, to give one last contemptuous look over her shoulder, before spinning back towards the door and continuing her purposeful strides forward.
"Andie!"
"What?" she hissed, resigning herself to the argument at hand and slowly turning to face her sister. "Why should I stop? What is there to go back to, Narcissa?" She gestured with one hand towards the room she had just exited. "You heard Mother and Father. I am dead to them." And though she tried her best to keep her pain at bay, her voice shook ever so slightly as she spat out those last words.
Narcissa took a few hesitant steps forward, light eyes filled with pleading. "Only if you continue to go with that Tonks boy. They don't… they aren't completely… Andie, you could come back if you just…"
"Just what?" she asked, her voice low and hoarse. "If I just stop seeing Ted? I love him." She looked away for a moment, then said softly, bitterly, "And he loves me, regardless of what I believe or who I choose to associated myself with."
It had not escaped her notice that no one else had followed her into the corridor. Her parents had both been at the family dinner, as had Bellatrix, her uncle Orion and younger cousin Regulus, and her paternal grandfather. Only Narcissa had followed her, only Narcissa had come to ask her to reconsider, to come back to the table.
No one else in her family wanted to waste their time on trash like her.
"You should go back, Narcissa," she said at last, her tone cold, her eyes hard as ice. "If you stay out here with me, you might be the next one banished from the family. After all, Mother and Father wouldn't want a daughter that fraternizes with blood-traitor filth."
Narcissa flinched, but did not lower her gaze. "Where will you go?" she asked imploringly. "You can't just leave…" She took another few steps, closing the distance between them and grasping Andromeda by the arm. "Is he worth it? Walking out on us? On your family? Is that Mudblood worth…"
She wrenched her arm from her sister's grip and answered furiously, "He's worth far more than you or anyone in this family will ever be!"
She did not wait for Narcissa to respond. Whipping around, she stormed from the house, letting the door slam shut firmly behind her. The latch magically locked shut as she stood on the stone steps, forever shutting her off from her family.
And this time, not even Narcissa followed her.
It was only then, once she was sure that she was alone, that no one would come out to find her, that she let the hot tears pool in her eyes and slowly cascade down her face. She wiped her eyes with the back of one hand and sighed, sniffling a little. Then, blinking through her tears, she walked down the steps and away from her home.
Snape was dreaming.
Sleep came only sparingly, fitfully, upon him, and when it came, it was filled with nightmares. Even in sleep, there was no escape from the influence of the Dementors that inhabited the prison island. Even in sleep, there was nothing to ease the constant ache that settled heavily in his chest.
In his dream, Snape was walking along a dirt path that twisted through a wood. The trees all around him were filled with autumn leaves, bright reds and yellows that lit up the canopy above his head, reminding him of fire, of blood splattered against a yellow sun, of Lily's hair.
Shadows crisscrossed along the trail, creating odd shapes of darkness that occasionally moved with the wind. The smell of mint and sage lingered in the air, mixing with the scent of fresh dew and damp moss.
In his dream, Lily was always just far enough ahead of him that he could not call out to her, could not get her attention. She would disappear around the distant bend, and when he ran to catch her, he'd turn the corner to find her once again fading into the distance. When he stopped to rest, she stopped as well, and her gaze would travel over everything, but somehow never land on him.
He paused for a moment, stopping to catch his breath. The air was warm, the heat of the sun slipping through the leaves of the trees and falling to the ground, golden beams of light that passed through his fingers.
The trees around him began to sway, branches creaking and groaning as they moved. The wind died down, turning first into a gentle breeze and then disappearing altogether, but the trees continued to move, as though they were propelled by some unseen force. The forest around him melted at the edges, becoming soft and gentle, colors seeping into each other.
He turned and looked behind him, and the forest was gone. Instead, he was staring at the worn down gate with the rusted hinges that squeaked whenever it was opened, at the broken cobblestones on the path that lead through an unkempt lawn dotted with the dark green of leaves, and the unwelcome house that rose before him, blotting out the sun.
He look back towards the path, but it was gone, having somehow faded away, taking Lily with it.
His dreams were never pleasant, not with soulless creatures sucking the happiness from his heart and mind. Even in his dream, he could still hear the faint trickle of water condensing on the stone walls of his cell and dripping down to the cold floor. Even in his dream, he could smell the mildew and stale air that he had breathed since the beginning of his incarceration.
How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Years? Decades?
Did it really matter anymore?
A figure moved slowly along the path before him, picking its way through cobblestones and fragments of broken bricks, until it came close enough for Snape to see the dark eyes surrounded by heavy lids and the cascade of brown hair that tumbled over the black robes.
"Andromeda," he murmured, as though somehow she could hear him, even though this was nothing more than a dream.
The sun had stopped shining. It was then that he realized there was no sun, that it was not daytime at all. The faint glimmer of moonlight reflected off the distant river and the sky overhead was heavy with gray clouds.
The door to the house – his house – opened, and a wizard stepped out.
"I see the old fool is as meddlesome as always," Snape whispered under his breath, the words echoing in the stillness, an indication of what was to come.
A moment passed as Andromeda paused and looked at the man who had emerged from the house. His cloak was pulled tightly around his thin frame and his hood was up, concealing his features from view. But the voice that issued from him was silky and smooth and unmistakable.
"Ms. Tonks. I see the old fool is as meddlesome as always." The hood fell away, revealing a younger Snape. The black eyes were filled with unfathomable emotion, and something flickered through the closed expression, something that would have been indecipherable to the average onlooker.
But Snape – the older one – was not an average onlooker. He knew this memory, had often found it emblazoned in his mind eve when he tried to forget. But how could he forget? After all this time, after everything he had done, it was still willingly walking back into the Dark Lord's ranks that he would forever remember.
"How did it go?" Andromeda asked at last.
The younger Snape sneered as he answered, "I walked into the lion's den and came out alive. Did Dumbledore tell you to check on me? How touching. Will he send someone else to my funeral in his place as well?"
"I came of my own accord," Andromeda answered, her tone sharp, her words clipped at the ends. "Albus only told me recently of all that had happened and I…" She paused, seeming for a moment to be just a little lost. With a heavy sigh, she finished, "I came of my own accord, but I have no doubt that the Headmaster would have asked me to, had I not offered."
The older Snape, the real one, turned away from the memory and stared at the ramshackle remnants of his childhood town. Andromeda had come to him only hours after he had entered the presence of the Dark Lord once more, intent on regaining favor in the powerful wizard's eyes. He had not seen her, not interacted with her, not since the first defeat of the Dark Lord at the hands of young Harry Potter. And now that the Dark Lord had risen, now that he was forced back into that inner circle…
Now she wanted to see him.
He was no fool, he knew her true motives.
At that thought, he whispered harshly, "Ask her yourself if you want to know so badly."
His younger counterpart turned away from Andromeda and said bitterly, "Indeed. Well, the Dark Lord has his followers back now, each of them pledged to his service once more. Either loyalty or fear. He has risen in his entirety, and Fudge is blind enough to not see it for the truth it is."
"Did Lucius…?" she started.
"Yes," he answered, his word emphatic, stressed and stretched into a low hiss. There was a pause, then he added, "Ask her yourself if you want to know how she is doing so badly."
Her eyes flashed, a warning, a sign of a short temper. "That wasn't the only reason I came," she snapped, stepping closer to him. She came close enough to see the faint outlines of pain in his face, the weariness of his stooped shoulders. Her lips pursed, her gaze softened. "He was not pleased."
It was not a question.
Snape answered it all the same.
"The Dark Lord is rarely pleased. And certainly not with what he might view as a betrayal." He inhaled slowly, turned his gaze back to the dark-haired witch.
"You convinced him you were still on his side?" she asked, and he snorted at the question.
"Obviously. Or he would not have let me live."
The elder Snape watched the scene for a moment longer, then blinked once and wondered vaguely when he would wake up. This was certainly not a fond memory, not something he wished to dwell on, but neither was it quite as bad as the nightmares that usually plagued his sleep. There was no torment, no raw pain to tear his soul apart even as he tried to rest, to drive him near to tears as he awoke back into the gloom of his cell.
He wondered, for a moment, how Andromeda was faring. Had the Aurors arrested Narcissa yet, or had Shacklebolt managed to keep her out of trouble? He knew nothing of the outside world, knew nothing about anything that had happened since Minerva's death.
His gut wrenched at the thought of the transfiguration Mistress' untimely demise, but he forced away the memory and let himself be pulled back into the one unfolding before him.
Andromeda, he knew, cared far more for Narcissa than she would ever admit. It was why she had agreed to help him, to be his only confidant in this mess. Because, though she would never again speak to her sister, through him she could receive updates as to how Narcissa was doing. It was, in fact, the main reason she had come to him that day – to ask if Lucius Malfoy had still answered the Dark Lord's call.
When Snape had confirmed this, he had seen the flicker of fear in her eyes, and known that the was terrified.
The memory was fading, blurring, disappearing. It melted away as Andromeda followed the younger Snape inside, staying close enough to him to silently judge his injuries, and far enough away to at least not be too blatant about what she was doing. They would talk, and he would drew a healing potion, and she would later report it all to Dumbledore with the weariness of someone who knows a war is starting again and can do nothing but stand helplessly by the side and watch the inevitable losses that it would bring.
He was on the path again, the soft dirt under his feet, the slivers of bright sunlight and blue sky just barely showing through the canopy of leaves overhead. He heard Lily's laughter and turned instinctively towards it, the edges of his face softening slightly as he saw her. She was walking up ahead, and the light fell on her hair, making it shimmer and glow.
She looked past him, or through him, her green eyes seeming to focus on something beyond him, something he could not see. But as he stared at her eyes, he swallowed uneasily, suddenly seeing Harry Potter reflected in those emerald depths. The boy who haunted him, always, whose very presence has only served to remind him of what he had lost, of the fact that Lily had chosen James Potter.
Lily's smile widened then, and Snape turned, wondering what she saw. His stomach clenched, twisting sharply, as James Potter himself seemed to emerge from the very air, brown eyes lighting up at the sight of the redhead. Potter walked past him, ignoring Snape, ignoring everything around him except Lily.
Snape watched in bitter silence as the two came together, Potter wrapping his arm around Lily, letting it drape over her shoulders in a careless manner. She leaned against him, and the two seemed to fit together, their bodies melding at the edges, melting into each other. Her red hair fell only his shoulder, he played with it idly, letting it slip through his fingers, twisting it in the palm of his hand.
Snape clenched his hands into sharp fists as he suddenly remembered that last year at Hogwarts. Lily and Potter had finally started dating, and Potter was always touching her. His arm had always been around her waist or his hand always resting lightly on the crook of her elbow. It had never been possessive, but it had always been done with a carelessness, as though there was nothing odd in it, in the way they interacted. As though they were really one person, instead of two separate entities.
As he watched Potter and Lily, a memory drifted through his mind, words his father had thrown at him, bitter and cold and slurred with alcohol and a lack of sleep.
"You think you're gonna' amount to somethin'? Life ain't for people like you. Stop wishin' for it, boy, 'cause we don't get happily-ever-afters. That's only in the fairy tales."
His mother had promised him that he could have the entire world. The sun, the moon, the stars. Anything he wanted, she had told him he could obtain. He had believed her then, but he didn't now. Now, he knew better. Now, he did not want the world, the sun and moon and stars.
Now, all he wanted was Lily.
He stared at her, and she stared up at Potter, and the sun came pouring down through the tree branches, illuminating the path, pushing back the shadows of his dream and revealing all the things he did not want to confront.
Sleep came only sparingly, fitfully, upon him, and when it came, it was filled with nightmares.
When the others came out of the memory, Andromeda stared hard at their faces. She waited for Hannigan's denouncement, waited for the others to mutter their suspicions and accusations. She had expected something, some kind of anger, some sort of refusal to believe.
She did not expect to see such stunned silence.
Hannigan sank heavily into one of the chairs, his skin ashen and pale. It was then that Andromeda realized with a start that Hannigan had not actually known the truth about Snape. Runcorn and Yaxley, both of whom must have had at least a few well-founded suspicions about Snape's true loyalties, had not revealed any of it to Hannigan. The power-hungry wizard knew he was framing Kingsley, but had not even begun to consider the possibility that Snape was innocent as well.
"That… Dumbledore…" Madam Borealis was breathless, her eyes round with uncomprehendingly surprise. "He asked Snape to kill him? To… to save…"
"To save Draco Malfoy from becoming a murderer," Andromeda said firmly, in a clipped tone. She watched the others reacted, watched with detached amusement as they all tried to wrap their minds around the fact that Dumbledore had chosen this end.
"I don't… that's not…" Hannigan whispered, his words halted, choked.
"And to help Severus obtain his position as the Dark Lord's most trusted follower," Andromeda continued smoothly. "You saw the memory. Dumbledore was already dying from a curse, one that no one could stop. He had only a year, and he knew that he had to set everything in place. He had to ensure that his school and his students were protected." She paused, waited until all eyes were on her, then said pointedly, "And he asked Severus to help him because he knew Severus could be trusted."
He'd asked her for help as well, and she remembered that conversation as though it were just yesterday.
"He is reluctant."
The words were such an understatement that Andromeda almost laughed at the irony of them. Despite his brilliance, despite his power, despite his incredible understanding of human nature, the Headmaster could sometimes be so oblivious to what was right before him.
Reluctant was hardly the right word. Horrified might be a better description.
She sat down in the chair across from Dumbledore's desk and said simply, "Are you surprised? You are asking him to murder you."
"No, I am asking him to help me end my life on my terms, and not on someone else's," Dumbledore replied, long fingers interlaced before him, blue eyes razor sharp, piercing her.
"Semantics," she retorted.
"He has agreed to help me," he continued as though she had not spoken, "but I am worried he may change his mind. He is not pleased with this plan, does not see that there really is no other way."
"And let me guess," she said softly, almost drawling, "you want me to convince him?"
"You offered him moral support during the first war," the Headmaster said with a shrug, "and are doing it again now. He has no one else besides myself, and I must confess that my opinion is hardly enough to convince him. Not now, not anymore. You've helped him, you know."
She doubted that Dumbledore was no longer as important to the potions Master, for Severus, despite his prickly exterior and cold demeanor, still cared greatly for the Headmaster, and respected him far more than anyone else in his life. But she did not voice that sentiment, and instead frowned and lowered her gaze.
She was torn.
But, though Dumbledore did not always understand his invaluable spy, it seemed as though he always understood her. And always knew the right thing to say, always knew how to manipulate her.
"She loves her son," he said softly. "More, I think, than even I ever realized. She defied Voldemort and went to Severus for help… that shows just how brave she was… and how desperate."
Andromeda did not answer, but she could so easily picture Narcissa's face, skin pale, light eyes widening with horror as she learned what the Dark Lord had intended for her son. Andromeda had never pictured Narcissa as a mother, was never able to appreciate just how much she was willing to do for her family. But she knew now… If Draco died, it would destroy Narcissa.
And, despite everything, Andromeda still could not stand idly by and let that happen.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "I'll speak to Severus."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ms. Trudea shifting slowly in her seat, the fog in her eyes shifting only slightly. The spell holding her in control was wearing thin, and Andromeda's focus was wavering as well. The council for the defense was able to fight back, at least somewhat, though she had yet to break through the hold.
Andromeda sighed and let her gaze sweep back across the others, observing silently as they struggled to deal with what they had witnessed, what they had learned.
It wasn't about Severus. She knew that now, although perhaps she had known it all along. She was no fool, she knew exactly why the Headmaster had picked her for the task of helping his spy. Her shared characteristics with the potions Master were a benefit, but even more than that, it was her own desperation, her need to somehow protect her younger sister from an unforgiving world that made her ideal for the task. Not because she was somehow more suited to the job, but because her link with Severus was her only way of keeping tabs on the health and wellbeing of her sister, and Dumbledore knew that.
And would quite easily manipulate her with it.
She had never verbalized it, and probably never would, never allow those feelings to have words. She could not admit to others that her split with her family had been difficult, that she had many times longed to return and beg forgiveness, if only to once again be with them.
Pride had kept her from doing it, pride and her love for Ted.
But Ted was dead now, and Narcissa… Cissy… the only one who had ever called her Andie, the only one who continued to use that nickname even though so much had passed between them and they were strangers now… Narcissa was still alive.
And in trouble.
It was not about Severus, it was not about the Headmaster, it was not about Harry Potter. It was not about doing the right thing, staying on the right side of the war. It was not about helping to overthrow the most dangerous wizard the world had ever seen.
It was not that she did not care for Severus, because she did. Likewise, she cared a great deal for the world, for all of society. She knew right from wrong, she knew which side of this war she had to be on. She knew a great deal about all the subtle shades of gray in life, and she knew that sometimes things really were black and white, and sometimes there really was an obvious right path, and a just as obvious wrong one.
It was about Narcissa Malfoy née Black.
Because, in the end, blood was always thicker than water.