Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: Hannigan's luck finally fails, Hermione receives a surprise visit, and Percy deals with his grief.

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

Chapter Thirty-Two: Loose Threads

When Harry and Malfoy finally burst into the room, an unconscious Yaxley in tow, their very presence seemed to set everything spiraling into chaos.

Hannigan was still stammering incoherently about the memory he had seen, and Madam Borealis was carefully considering the Pensieve before her, her expression contemplative and concerned. Andromeda kept her gaze on Ms. Trudea, watching the council for defense carefully, wondering how long it would be before her spell wore off completely. The other two Wizengamot members were whispering to each other, their voices hushed, but quick, obviously excited by all this.

And then the door was slammed open and the three wizards came toppling through. Harry was breathless, his bright green eyes scanning the room frantically, while Malfoy seemed a little more reserved. But the tension surrounding them was evident, and it spread outwards, filling the room.

And then Hannigan was on his feet a moment later, his gaze fixed on the unconscious Yaxley, his hands shaking as fingers curled around his wand.

"Mr. Potter," Madam Borealis said swiftly, nodding to him, "what is the meaning of this disruption?" Like everyone else in the world, she respected Harry, might have come close to worshiping him. But her sense of decorum made her ill-pleased by his abrupt appearance, and she narrowed her eyes briefly, chin lifted as she waited for his answer.

Harry nodded to Yaxley as he said, "I have proof. Proof that Kingsley is innocent. That Hannigan is behind all of this. Everything. McGonagall's death, and even Penelope's… it's all his fault."

"Liar!" Hannigan hissed, face draining of all color. His words were harsh, and filled with anger that only barely concealed the fear. "How dare you? You can't just come bursting in here and throw around accusations like that…"

He stopped then, ashen face falling slightly as he realized who he was addressing. His gaze seemed to falter, and he slanted a quick look at the three Wizengamot members. They were all staring at him with open mouths because no one… no one… spoke that way to Harry Potter.

It only took a moment for him to recover, however, and he said apologetically, "I'm sorry, I should not have lashed out at you like that. But it has been a trying day… and my temper is not always under control." He smiled tentatively, as the others in the room relaxed slightly, though Harry continued to glare at him. He continued with a disarming tone, "Shacklebolt must have Confounded him. Quite a good job on the spell, I see. Well, it wouldn't have been hard, given the amount of time the ex-Auror spent with him."

"I am not under a spell!" Harry snapped. "Kingsley's done nothing to me. Nothing at all! You are the one who…"

"Mr. Potter, please!" Madam Borealis cut in as Harry's voice rose in volume. She looked scandalized by the turn of events, and sent a distasteful look towards Yaxley, who was still lying unconscious on the floor. "This is most improper!"

"Improper?" Harry seethed. "This entire trial has been improper!"

"Potter, shut up," Malfoy muttered, rolling his eyes slightly, although he seemed rather impressed by Harry's anger. "Yelling isn't really helping anything."

Andromeda stifled a smile at her nephew's words. Silently, she regarded him with an scrutinizing stare. He looked so much like his father, but she thought she could see bits of Narcissa in his expression, in the way he moved his head, in the smugness of his gaze.

Aloud, she said, "Perhaps it would be best to resume the trial?" All eyes turned towards her, and she saw Harry start, surprised by her presence. Inclining her head to Madam Borealis, she added, "Your decision, of course. But it seems the best way to solve the matter."

"I think it should be handled quietly and quickly," Hannigan argued immediately after her suggestion. "I see no reason to worry the public with as of yet unproven and ill-founded accusations." He lowered his voice and added, "It would not do well for morale if people saw how Harry Potter had been manipulated by a criminal. In these difficult times, do we want to add to their burden?"

"I have not been manipulated!" Harry paused, his hard glare intensifying, then tore his gaze from Hannigan and looked down at Yaxley. "Fine, let's do it secretly. Give him a truth potion and see what he has to say. When he implicates Hannigan, then we can continue the trial."

"Mr. Potter," one of the Wizengamot members spoke up delicately, "do you realize the… severity… of these accusations?"

Harry nodded. "I do," he said, his tone firm, uncompromising.

"If everything you say is true," Hannigan said, his eyes flickering back and forth between Malfoy and Andromeda, "then Narcissa Malfoy has committed a grave crime by lying to this court and allowing her husband to be sent to Azkaban."

This time, it was Andromeda who replied, her words laced with ironic humor, "Narcissa? She did what she did because you forced her to. You practically blackmailed her into it. You were so desperate to make sure that Lucius Malfoy went away for life…"

"My mother is guilty of nothing but trying to survive in this world that hates her," Malfoy interrupted, pale eyes glittering with fury. His anger was directed at Hannigan, though his words seemed to include everyone else in the room. "You want to ruin her, want to use her as a scapegoat for everything that goes wrong in your life. It is not her fault."

"Your mother," Hannigan retorted, "is a cold-hearted, arrogant snob. Don't act like you are all innocent victims in this. You and your father were both Death Eaters, and your mother was hardly any better. You murdered people, and tortured them."

"And here I thought Narcissa and Draco were both saints who had seen the light and come to the right side," Andromeda interjected. "Isn't that what you declared when you had Cissy set up her husband? Changing your tune, are you?"

Hannigan flushed, unable to reply to the pointed truth in her words.

But Malfoy seemed much more disturbed by the other bit of information that was continually tossed around by the others. "What do you mean? What did my mother do? Where is my father?"

It was Madam Borealis who answered. "Lucius Malfoy has been arrested by the Aurors and taken to Azkaban where he will await trial for his crimes. Your mother, Mr. Malfoy, was the witness who testified against him." Her voice was soft, as though she was trying to be gentle, to lessen the blow of her words.

It did little good. Malfoy just stared at her, his expression horrified.

"That's not… my mother would never… no. No, you're wrong. You must be."

For a moment, there was a complete silence. Then Harry said, "If Hannigan is behind that, too, then shouldn't we be arresting him?" He looked over at Andromeda and asked, "Isn't that what you said? That Hannigan forced her to do it?"

"I still don't… no, that doesn't… make sense…" Malfoy stammered, unable to fully comprehend what he had been told. His blank stare wavered, then moved between Hannigan and Andromeda. Finally, he said, "It can't be right. It does not matter what Hannigan threatened. My mother would never sacrifice my father to save her own life."

To which Andromeda replied, "It was not her life she was trying to save," and watched as the implication of that statement hit Malfoy fully, and he took a step back as guilt and shock flickered in his expression.

Blanche Trudea shifted, and Andromeda knew it was only a matter of minutes before the Imperius Curse wore off. She frowned, but knew there was little she could do at the moment. She had risked setting it before, in the crowded courtroom, because no one was paying her any attention. But here? It was too dangerous, someone would notice.

But if it wore off… she could get in quite a bit of trouble for using an Unforgivable. She needed a distraction, something to hold the others' attention, if even for a second…

"Shouldn't we focus out attention back on the trial?" she asked pointedly.

"This is not your call," Hannigan hissed. "You are not on the Wizengamot and you are not council for the defense or prosecution. You are a witness. Stop trying to make things work your way."

She answered coolly, "I would just like to see justice served. Surely you have no objection to that?" And there was little Hannigan could say or do to stop the inevitable.

Which was why, only a moment later, they were all watching in silence as Yaxley, under the influence of a truth potion, was asked the first question.

"Who killed Minerva McGonagall?"

Yaxley's eyelids flickered open, and he stared unseeingly at the room around him. "I did."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Andromeda shift her wand slightly, her lips forming a silent word. He did not see where the spell went, or for whom it was intended, and no one else seemed to notice. He stored it away for further thought, and turned his attention back to Yaxley as a ripple of surprise and shock ran through the room.

"What? Why?"

His emotionless voice sounded eerie in the silence as he recounted the events. "It was meant for Snape. She pushed him out of the way, saved him. The spell accidentally hit her instead. Killed her. But her death was never really part of the plan. We were only trying to get Snape. And Hannigan wanted the Ministry, so we had to get Shacklebolt out of the way…"

Andromeda sighed in relief as he spoke, as Ms. Trudea's eyes unfocused once more as she was pulled back underneath the spell, as the others listened with abated breath to the tale that was being told.

The sentencing for Kingsley was postponed. Hannigan was sent to Azkaban to await his own trial, but Harry did not linger to find out anything else. Suddenly the idea of facing the relentless questions that were sure to be asked, of having to recount in vivid detail everything that had happened, seemed too much to bear.

He stared moodily at the window in the Burrow, watching clouds drift lazily across the sky. Hermione had been released from St. Mungo's, and sat next to him on the sofa. Ron was supposed to be released later in the day, and she was clearly anxious to see him, to assure herself that he would be alright.

"How's Percy?" Hermione asked finally, her question directed towards Ginny, who was perched on another chair.

The redhead frowned, glancing towards the stairs. "I don't know," she admitted, chewing her bottom lip. "He hasn't been… talkative. Mum keeps trying to get him to come downstairs, but he doesn't want to. At least his door isn't locked anymore. And at least he's stopped destroying the stuff in his room. I wish… I wish I could do something… help him…" She trailed off with a helpless shrug.

"He loved her," Harry said, and although he knew he was stating something that had probably been blatantly obvious to everyone else, he still found it odd. He'd never really thought of Percy as the type to fall in love, but there was no denying how deeply the studious and bookish Weasley had cared for his girlfriend.

"Yes," Hermione whispered. She, too, looked at the stairs, and then looked quickly away. As though afraid that the very act of looking in that direction might somehow harm Percy more.

"We've all lost people," Harry said, his thoughts wandering first to Sirius, then his parents, and finally to Fred. "This war… Voldemort… He took so much."

War, he had come to realize, was far more about surviving what came afterwards than anyone wanted to admit. People talked about heroic actions, about self-sacrificing witches and wizards who had laid down their own lives to do what was right, to protect the ones they loved. His mother had done it, and he would have done it, had even thought he was doing it, when he'd allowed Voldemort to kill him. But after all that was over, when the war had been fought and won, there was always a price. Always a cost. And in the end, the hardest part was not fighting the war.

It was surviving the aftermath.

Like Ginny, he wished he could offer some kind of comfort for Percy. He knew what it was like to lose a loved one, knew that there were no words that could truly heal the scar that would permanently rest over Percy's heart. But life went on, the world kept turning, and that was the hardest part of it all.

"Is it over?" Ginny asked wearily.

"I doubt it," Harry confided, knowing he sounded pessimistic. "Hannigan will do his best to get out of this, although I don't see how he can. But even so, there's still the others to worry about. Abbott – I don't know what will happen to him. He didn't purposefully try to harm anyone, but he did a lot of damage. And the Malfoys. Malfoy's dad is still in Azkaban, and now that the Wizengamot knows that Narcissa Malfoy lied to them, she could be in trouble too…" Harry gave a shrug. "A lot of loose ends to tie up. And we still don't have a Minister of Magic or a Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"What about Kingsley?" Ginny pressed. "Why haven't they released him yet?"

"Because he did knowingly work with Snape," Harry muttered, shaking his head. "Back when everyone still thought Snape was a traitor… I don't think the Wizengamot knows quite what to do about that. I'm petitioning for him to be released, but… it might take a little bit longer."

"And Snape?" Hermione asked.

Harry felt his insides clench, and he forced himself to relax, to breath normally. "I don't know," he answered.

There was a moment of tense silence, then Hermione said, "Well, at least they know the truth about Hannigan now. He almost succeeded, you know."

Harry nodded, and they lapsed into silence.

Of all the people Hermione ever expected to come looking for her, Draco Malfoy was perhaps the least likely. But there was no denying that it was him standing there, gray eyes staring frankly at her as she opened the door to her flat.

"How's Weasley?" he asked as he stepped around her and let himself into the room, not waiting for an invitation.

"Ron will be out of the hospital soon," Hermione answered, frowning at him as she closed the door firmly behind her. "If you're looking for Harry, though, he's not here. He's still at the Burrow."

Malfoy shook his head. "If I was looking for him," he replied with the slightest bit of mocking in his tone, "I would have gone there. Trust me, I never expected him to be here. Not when he could be spending quality time with the youngest Weasel."

Hermione rolled her eyes, frustrated. Ron should have been released from the hospital by now, but his injuries were taking longer to heal than the Healer had expected, and it was beginning to worry Hermione. Ginny had assured her that this was normal – often Healers could not see the full extent of the spell's damage until the body had started the healing process – but that knowledge did little to comfort Hermione.

Particularly when Ginny herself was quite worried, despite her own words.

She had returned to her own home to gather some clothing and other necessary items for staying at the Burrow. She had not really been home since the beginning of this entire mess, but she did not want to be away from Ron and Harry for all that long, so she had opted to take up Mrs. Weasley's offer to stay at the Burrow for a few days.

"What is Potter doing about Snape?" Malfoy demanded.

Hermione blinked at him, surprised. "What?" she asked blankly, not understanding the question. "What do you mean?"

"What is he doing about Snape?" Malfoy asked impatiently, glancing around the room with a nervous gesture, as though he was afraid someone would jump out of the woodwork and attack him. "Hannigan has gone to jail, and Shacklebolt will probably be released soon… Merlin only knows what will happen to my parents and I, but what is Potter doing about Snape?"

Hermione sighed, finally comprehending the point of Malfoy's questions. "At the moment, he's waiting. We're all waiting. There is too much chaos to be able to do anything productive."

"Waiting?" Malfoy sneered. "Potter's got the influence, and the ear of all the right people. He could get this sorted, and he's just going to wait?"

Hermione instinctively stiffened at the accusations being implied, but then she took a breath and forced herself to stay calm. In a tightly controlled voice, she replied, "Rushing into something without a plan is a good way to ruin everything. You want Snape released? Then you're just going to have to wait."

Malfoy snorted. "Right. That's a good plan. See if you can't just get Snape to go insane in Azkaban. Then who cares if you clear his name or not, he's still gone." He turned away from her and started pacing, his steps quick and loud, filled with anger.

It was then that she wondered why he had come to her, and not gone to Harry with these concerns. She hesitated before asking the question, not really wanting to get drawn into a conversation. But she doubted her silence would be enough to get Malfoy to leave, given that he had entered without her permission in the first place, so at last she asked bluntly, "Why are you telling me this? Why not Harry?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Potter doesn't listen," he replied sharply. "Not to reason, and not to other people's opinions."

"That's not true," Hermione snapped. It had been true, once. Particularly during their fifth year at Hogwarts, but also at other points while they attended school, Harry had been known for disregarding all the advice of his friends and the people who were just trying to look out for him, and acting instead on his own whims. Times had changed, and though mentions of Snape still brought out the worst in her friend, Harry was different.

And even his opinion of Snape had changed over the past few days.

"You have common sense," Malfoy continued, and it was not flattery or anything of that sort. He was apparently just stating what he believed to be perfectly true, and he had turned back to her with a pointed stare. "You can talk to him. Make sure he doesn't just conveniently… forget… about Snape."

"He won't," Hermione insisted.

Malfoy glanced at the windows, his expression unreadable.

"What are you so worried about?" Hermione demanded. "You keep looking around like you expect to be attacked. Like you're in danger."

He stared at her for a moment, completely silent, and then said, "What makes you think I'm not?"

She started, and then asked, "Who is after you? Runcorn and Yaxley are both in custody, and so is Hannigan."

Malfoy rolled his eyes again. "Did Potter not tell you anything of what happened?" he questioned mockingly, tauntingly. Then his voice took on a stronger tone, one layered with distaste and dripping with acid, and he continued, "Use your head, Granger, I know you have at least a semi-functioning brain. Andromeda Tonks revealed the truth about Hannigan and Snape, yes. But that meant revealing that my mother had lied to the court… and to the Aurors… on more than one occasion. How long do you think it will be before she's arrested? Before they come after me?"

He spun on his heel and stalked away from her, towards the nearest window. He gazed out into the sky, his back to her, tension obvious in the lines of his body.

And everything seemed to fall into place for Hermione. Malfoy assumed that he had only a limited amount of time, and he wanted to make sure that Snape would be released. She'd heard enough of the story from Harry to know that Malfoy had been the one to lead Harry to Snape, and, consequently, he had played a large role in having Snape sent to prison. It had been to save his family, but now that it was obvious that his family was past saving, he was trying to undo what he had done, to right the wrong before it was to late.

And he had come to her because he doubted Harry would listen to him.

She sighed and looked away from him, unsure of what to do.

"Yaxley and Runcorn wanted my parents to suffer," Malfoy said softly, so softly that for a moment Hermione wasn't entirely sure if she had actually heard him, or if it had been her own imagination. But then he continued, his back still to her, his voice a little louder, "Hannigan must have promised them that, but then he went back on his promise. Protected my mother and I, for a time. And sent Runcorn to Azkaban when it suited him."

"Hannigan betrayed them," Hermione answered simply.

He turned and looked at her, then said, "When Yaxley was being questioned, he admitted that Hannigan hadn't wanted the Headmistress to get hurt. Or for anything to happen to Potter, you, and the Weasel. Those were all accidents, everything that happened. You three weren't supposed to get involved, that's not what Hannigan wanted."

"So?"

"So then why did Yaxley and Runcorn send you the clue, slipping it into your pocket? Why did they send a warning – a temptation – to McGonagall?" Malfoy asked. Hermione opened her mouth to answer, then found she had no response, and Malfoy pressed on, "They sent you to look for me. That's why Potter first got involved, first came storming to me, demanding answers, wanting to know all my secrets. And they did the same to the Headmistress." He shook his head and sighed. "Runcorn and Yaxley always had every intention of dragging all of you into this. They wanted you all dead, all out of the way, because you still has the power to stop them. They lied to Hannigan, just like Hannigan lied to them."

Hermione accepted that silent agreement. Hannigan, Runcorn, and Yaxley might have succeeded if they'd worked together better, if they hadn't been so willing to double-cross the other.

It was a scary thought.

But she heard also what Malfoy was implying, what he hadn't said aloud. Runcorn and Yaxley had been afraid of the influence that she and Ron and Harry had, that they still had, even know. And influence that could turn public favor against them, and help direct it towards the path they supported. Hermione was smart enough to know that it would take more than that to change public opinion about someone like Snape – that hatred still burned too deeply, too brightly.

But they might be able to do something, to make some sort of indent on the task.

She sighed again. "I'll talk to Harry," she promised.

Malfoy nodded. "Good. I'd better go." Sarcastically, he added, "The Aurors are probably lying in wait to ambush me after I leave the protection of your oh-so-glorious presence." He left, turning away from her sharply, silently, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You're welcome," she muttered to the empty flat.

When the door opened, Percy didn't really expect to find George entering his room. Except for the one time that the remaining twin had used Muggle tricks to pick the lock on the door, Percy hadn't seen much of George. His mother, of course, had come several times, trying to draw him out into the rest of the house. So had his father, Ginny, Bill and Fleur, Charlie, and even Ron. It hadn't worked, but they had still tried.

George hadn't.

Percy ran a hand through his hair and blinked a couple times, but made no move towards George, did not respond to his presence in any outward way.

George stepped further into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. He was quiet, which was odd, but Percy did not ask. Instead, he stared in silence at the floor and waited for George to give up and leave. Neither of the twins had ever been patient, and he figured he could easily out-wait his brother.

Then George spoke, "Ron's going to be okay. They're releasing him soon."

Percy's throat was dry as he answered, "Good." He didn't want to lose another brother. He felt as though there was more he should say, however, but he couldn't find the right words. His mind was cloudy, fogged over by the grief of Penny's death, and nothing else seemed to penetrate.

Nothing but the heavy guilt, the thought that somehow he should have been able to save her.

"Everything is… people are going crazy," George continued. "I don't think anyone really knows what to make of it. It's a mess, all of it. And everyone is scared."

Percy nodded, looking up briefly to meet George's gaze. There was something in his brother's eyes, some emotion that Percy felt drawn towards, and it took him a moment to realize it was empathy.

He turned away before it became too much for him, before the thought that someone else cared could undo him completely. And, he reminded himself firmly, resolutely, George didn't care about Penny. He'd never bothered to interact with her, and probably just saw her as yet another boring prefect. So well-suited for his boring brother.

He wasn't sure where the bitterness had come from, and he tried to push it down, force it aside, but it wouldn't leave. Suddenly, he felt the almost uncontrollable desire to get out, get away. He couldn't stand to be here, in this room, sitting across from George.

He rose to his feet, not really sure what he planned to do, but knowing that he had to leave. Maybe he would go back to his flat in London, maybe… He bit his lip, containing the sobs that were threatening to break loose. What was there for him in London? The flat would remind him far too much of Penny, of all the time he had spent with her.

"It doesn't help to run," George said abruptly.

Percy's gaze snapped towards his younger brother, but George wasn't looking at him. He was looking instead at the window just past Percy, clearly doing his best to avoid meeting Percy's eyes.

"Trust me," he added, voice hoarse, "you can't outrun grief."

Percy shook his head fiercely, eyes narrowed. "Do you think you're the only one who grieved for him?" he demanded. "I lost Fred, too."

"It's not the same," George answered simply. "You lost your brother, and so did I. But I also lost half of myself, and you couldn't know what that feels like…" he turned back to Percy, "until now."

Percy sat down hard.

"Mum's worried about you," George remarked casually.

Percy snorted. "I know," he answered, only just keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. He was well aware of his mother's feelings, and didn't need George to point them out to him.

"We all are," George added in a softer voice.

There was too much truth in George's voice for Percy to try to deny it, but that didn't change anything. They weren't moved so much by Penny's death as they were by the fact that her death had hurt him, and he didn't want that. He didn't want them to grieve for him, not when they weren't grieving the way he did for Penny.

It was unfair to expect that of them, he knew, but still…

He rubbed his eyes, tired and a little bit uncomfortable.

George made no move to leave.

It was then that Percy realized George wasn't intending on leaving, not yet. He didn't appear to have any more to say, but he sat there, his gaze roaming around the room, as though he was waiting for something.

Percy shot him a quizzical look.

George shrug, flushed slightly with embarrassment, and muttered, "It helps to… not be… alone."

Percy wanted to argue, wanted to point out that of all the people he could think of to keep him company right them, George wasn't even close to the top of the list. But George wasn't talking, and it took Percy a moment to realize that he wasn't going to start. He didn't want to talk about emotions or feelings or anything like that. He would just sit there, silent, letting Percy remain quiet.

Keeping him company.

Percy closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. George was right, he couldn't outrun this grief.

He continued to sit, quietly, while George drummed his fingers against the bed and stared off into space. And that was how Molly Weasley found them when she came upstairs to check on her third son a few hours later.