Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: Questions are asked, secrets are revealed, and Kingsley Shacklebolt receives a verdict.

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

Chapter Thirty-Three: Instrument of Your Peace

When they came for him, Snape thought it was perhaps the middle of the night. He couldn't be sure – his sense of time had long since dissolved into nothing – but the sky outside the prison fortress was darkening. There were no stars, everything was heavy with clouds that threatened rain, and even thunder and lightning seemed just around the corner.

He could catch a glimpse of the ocean around them through the thin slits of windows that they passed as they lead him along the corridor. Dementors floated backwards, away from him, away from all of them, while the silvery light of a Patronus circled him, fending off the Dark creatures.

But the air was still cold, still covered in a thick mist of depression, and every breath he took seemed to freeze his insides, ice growing in his veins.

He did not know what was happening or where they were leading him. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to run, to flee, to go somewhere – anywhere – that was as far away from these stone-faced Aurors as possible. But he had no means of running, and so he followed them in a tense silence, waiting.

They lead him into an interrogation room. A large window at one end looked out over the steep drop down to the water below them, and out further to the distant horizon. There was no land in sight, save for the cliff on which the prison was perched. Snape thought, also, that the glass must have been charmed to be unbreakable, or else it would have been far too much of a safety risk.

Several candles floated above them. It was the first true light Snape had seen since his capture, and he found himself lifting his head and letting the glow of their flames fall on his face, warming his skin. He had spent all of his time as a teacher at Hogwarts in the dungeons, and never once thought he would miss the light. But there was no denying how happy he was to see it now.

"You may take a seat, Snape," one of the Aurors said, his voice sharp.

Snape did as he was told, noting with some satisfaction that the Auror had his wand gripped tightly in his hand, knuckles turning white from the pressure. It was clear that, even now, they were afraid of him, afraid of what they thought he might do.

There were three Aurors in the room, which seemed a ridiculous number. With his wand and all of his facilities, Snape had no doubt hat he would be able to overpower them, although even he had to admit it would be a struggle. But without a wand, and after so long at the Dementors' mercy, merely standing was proving to be difficult.

There was a long table before him, and he sat at one end while the three Aurors stood at the other. Then the first Auror, the one who had spoken, nodded to the others, some kind of silent signal. They stepped back, and turned towards the door, taking up guarding positions on either side, wands at the ready. The first Auror stared at them for a moment, as though contemplating something, then sat down at the end of the table opposite Snape.

"Severus Snape," he began, unfolding a scroll of parchment on the smooth surface of the table before him, "do you know why you are here?"

The Patronus, Snape realized, was probably still outside the room, keeping the Demontors away. He could no longer feel the chill of their presences, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt warm.

He looked at the Auror, leaning forward as just the tiniest bit of his sarcasm found its way back into his words. "Do you mean in Azkaban or do you mean in this room?" he asked. "Either way, I do believe you should be the one telling me, as it was your colleagues who put me here." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, black eyes staring shrewdly at the Auror.

"You are here," the Auror said, ignoring Snape's mocking words, "because you have been accused of being a Death Eater. You are here because you have been accused of treason and treachery. You are here because you have been accused of countless murderers, including, but not limited to, the murder of Albus Dumbledore." He paused, meeting Snape's gaze, then asked, "Do you deny this?"

"Do I deny that I have been accused of all those things?" Snape asked in a drawl. "Once again, I believe I will have to defer to you to answer the question. You are, after all, the one bringing the accusations to my attention."

The Auror narrowed his eyes and asked coldly, "Do you think this is funny?"

Outside the window, the storm broke, and a flash of lightning illuminated the sky, outlining the jagged crags of the island. Rain burst from the clouds, pounding against the glass. Snape turned, staring at it for a moment, as did the three Aurors. The room was silent, and from above them, the candles cast flickering shadows on the table and across the ground.

"Have you come to inform me of my trial date?" Snape asked finally. "Have you come to assign me counsel?" He was not foolish enough to hope that he would get either of those – he knew how the Ministry worked. Sentencing without a trial was far more likely for him. Who would waste their time trying to defend him when the world was calling for his blood?

"No," the Auror said, the single word hard and sharp. Then he looked down, withdrawing a quill and ink jar from within his robes. He looked at the parchment again, before lifting his gaze back to Snape and saying, "I am, however, here to ask you about a statement by Andromeda Tonks. She testified to your innocence."

Snape gaped. It took a few seconds for him to quickly pull himself together and return his face to its usual blank expression. But even after he had managed that, he had the sneaking suspicion that his eyes still held some of their astonishment.

After all his time serving as a spy, he had assumed that nothing would ever surprise him again. But this did surprise him, more than he would have thought possible.

The Auror seemed pleased that he had managed to make Snape speechless. Pressing on while he still had the advantage, he said, "Some members of the Wizengamot were shown a memory of Dumbledore's that appeared to confirm your innocence. I can show you the memory, if you would like."

Snape hesitated, then questioned, "Which memory? What was in it?"

"You and Dumbledore, discussing how and when you would kill him. And attempting to save young Mr. Malfoy's soul," the Auror responded succinctly. "There was also some discussion as to the nature of the curse that afflicted Dumbledore's hand for most of the last year of his life."

Snape sighed inwardly, refusing to let his emotions show on his face. He knew this memory, and he did not need to relive it to remember, with vivid detail, the conversation he had had with the Headmaster. He did not know how Andromeda had gotten the memory, nor did he particularly care. She had remained silent on the subject of his true loyalties for so long, why would she spill his secrets now? Was she truly concerned for him, was she determined to keep him from losing his soul?

Or, more likely, was this just another way for her to somehow protect her sister?

"I will assume by your silence that you do not wish to see the memory," the Auror said, and scribbled something down on the parchment before him. "Very well, we shall proceed with the… questioning."

"Oh, so is this to be an interrogation?" Snape drawled, bringing up his mental barriers. Most interrogations, he knew, were accompanied with Legilimency of some kind. And it did not matter that they already had one of his memories, he would not allow them access to others.

"What did you expect?" the Auror shot back, temper flaring for a moment. He slanted a look at his two colleagues who still stood silently by the door. "We know you are a superb Occlumens, and are therefore reluctant to use Legilimency on you." One of the Aurors stepped forward, withdrawing a flask from his robes and placing it before Snape. "Drink," the main Auror ordered.

Snape lifted an eyebrow with cool distaste. "You expect me to willingly drink your potion? Veritaserum, I presume?" He pushed the flask away from himself, hearing the liquid sloshing inside. With each passing minute away from the Dementors, he found himself getting warmer, feeling stronger, and that was increasing his ability to think clearly and his determination to avoid spilling his secrets.

"You don't have a choice," the Auror said.

It was then that everything went black.

The Auror sighed and nodded slowly. "Thank you," he said, turning to one of his companions by the door. "I had a feeling this would be difficult."

The other Auror inclined his head as he pocketed his wand. "Of course," he said pleasantly. "A silent stunner is certainly far easier than attempting to convince him to drink."

The main Auror rose and walked over to Snape, grabbing the flask as he did so. The potions Master was slumped forward, eyes closed, unaware of anything around him. The Auror opened the flask and glanced at the liquid inside, the truth potion that had been carefully brewed for the purpose of questioning suspected criminals.

There would be a trial, of course, if his words proved to be worth listening to. If Andromeda Tonks was correct, if Harry Potter was correct… if Snape really was a hero, then there would most certainly be a trial. But first they had to determine the truth, because this still could be some elaborate hoax, some trap meant to catch them unawares and wreak havoc on the world.

He sighed.

"I suppose we ought to get this over with, then."

When Snape regained consciousness, it was with a strange detachment to the world around him, a sense of floating, stuck in the same spot, while everything else spun around him. Had he been thinking clearly, he would have determined that it was an effect of the potion that had stripped him of his ability to lie. But the potion kept him from thinking much, and so he found himself unable to comprehend what had happened, unable even to realize that it was unusual to feel this way.

"Why did you join the Death Eaters?"

The question drifted towards him, though he couldn't place it, couldn't figure out who was speaking. It hovered in the air, and he answered it, not because he wanted to, but because he could think of no reason not to answer it.

"I wanted power. And to be recognized. Respected." He paused, trying to find the right words. "The Dark Lord offered that. And more. Only a fool would refuse."

"When you first joined the Death Eaters, were you loyal to them?"

"Yes," he said.

"Are you loyal now?"

"No."

"What changed?"

He paused. He didn't want to answer that question, although he was not sure why. Something was telling him he ought to answer it, that he had to, really. His insides clenched, but he couldn't stop himself from answering, so he said, "The Dark Lord wished to kill Lily. He believed the prophecy referred to her son, and planned to destroy the entire family. I could not let that happen."

"Why not?"

"I loved Lily."

There it was, the simple answer. There was nothing else to say, nothing left to give. He could have elaborated, could have told about how deep his love ran, about how he missed her so much. He could have filled the air with pretty words, but none of them would have carried the power to describe just what he had felt for the red-haired witch. Mere words could not do it justice.

For a few minutes, there was a silence. The voice did not ask anymore questions, not then, and Snape lapsed into his own quiet contemplation. He thought of very little, but instead remembered Lily, and it filled him with a strange peace.

But, of course, peace is always broken, and shortly the voice asked, "What did you do after You Know Who threatened to kill the Potters?"

"I went to Dumbledore. I agreed to spy for him. But it was not enough, the Dark Lord killed Lily anyway. Her son survived, and I tried to protect him."

"But you killed him."

That was not a question, and yet Snape found himself speaking anyway. "He was trying to save Draco and the rest of the students. He had a limited time, the curse on his hand was rapidly killing him. He would be dead before the year, and he knew it. He also doubted Draco could fulfill the Dark Lord's order, and so the task fell to me to protect the boy as best I could. Once I had killed him, we hoped I would be named Headmaster. That would allow me to continue to protect the students and the school."

He wasn't sure what he felt as he spoke. There was sorrow, of course, and grief for the old man's death. There was anger, a rush of fury at what he had been forced to do, a fury that was directed at himself, at Dumbledore, at the Dark Lord, at the entire world in general.

Oddly, Draco was the one person he had never blamed for what had happened.

But all these emotions were still separate from himself. He knew he was feeling them – or perhaps he knew he should be feeling them – but they were still distant and vague. The detachment left him with an aftertaste of dislike in his mouth. He had a feeling he should not be happy about this predicament, but could not figure out what exactly it was that made him unhappy.

"Why did you not reveal the truth before?"

"It was my truth, my secret," Snape answered. "I saw no reason to let others poke around inside my mind." He paused, then added, "I did not think I would be caught. And I was content with my life. What need did I have to change it?"

Once again, he found himself at Hogwarts.

Harry sighed as he crossed the grounds towards the castle. His every attempt to move on with his life had been halted by the simple fact that he kept coming back here, back to Hogwarts, back to memories that would not let him go.

All things came full circle, and once again, he was back where he had started.

Nobody stopped him as he entered the castle and walked through the long hallways. There was no one here to stop him, not right now. He imagined most of the professors were gone, or perhaps it was just that the only three who he ever seemed to run into were McGonagall, Dumbledore, and Snape.

Two dead, one in prison.

He did not need to give a password at the gargoyle, it sprung aside for him. With McGonagall dead, and no successor currently assigned to follow her, the office had no commands to obey, no secrets to keep locked away. He was not surprised, therefore, to enter the circular room and find all the portraits asleep, the old Headmasters and Headmistresses leaning against their frames.

He was also not surprised to find Dumbledore awake and smiling at him, pale blue eyes staring at him, into him, through him.

"Harry," Dumbledore greeted. "What brings you here?"

"Severus Snape," Harry said, not bothering to draw out the conversation. Hermione had come back to the Burrow with the story of her confrontation with Malfoy, and it had left him with the feeling of unease in his stomach. He knew much of Malfoy said was true, and he knew also that event though they had stopped Runcron, Yaxley, and Hannigan, they still had much to set right before the world was fixed.

If it was ever fixed.

Dumbledore sighed. There was something about his expression that gave Harry pause, some look in his eyes that indicated that the old man knew exactly why Harry was there, knew exactly what had happened.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and shook his head wearily. Dumbledore probably did know why he was there.

"He was never… he wasn't on Voldemort's side," he said, choosing his words with care.

"Not since the beginning of the first war," Dumbledore agreed.

Harry bit back a harsh laugh and asked, "Why didn't you tell me? All this time… Why didn't you tell anyone? You, Narcissa Malfoy, Andromeda Tonks…? Why did you all… why did you keep silent?" He spun around and started pacing, short, angry strides that carried him back and forth across the floor of the office. "He… he… He killed you." The words were bitter, angry, and at that moment, he wasn't sure who he was angry with more – Snape or Dumbledore.

"He did not want his secret told," the portrait replied. "And it was not my secret to tell."

Harry paused, glaring at him. "You made decisions for everyone," he snapped. "Why was Snape different?"

"I made decisions when it was necessary, when they were necessary to win the war. I did not make decisions that did not affect the rest of the world. If Severus does not wish…"

"Of course it affects the rest of the world!" Harry interrupted. "He killed my parents. They are dead because of him."

To which Dumbledore answered simply, bluntly, "And how would revealing the truth change that?"

Harry stopped pacing, his mouth falling open. He didn't have an answer to that, and that left him speechless and annoyed. It was true, revealing the truth about Snape's loyalties wasn't going to change anything that had happened in the past. It would not bring his parents back, it would not make the losses of the last two wars easier to bear, it would not ease the anger that clenched tightly in his chest at the thought of the potions Master.

"If I had known, it could have changed things," he protested finally, even though he could not give any concrete example of how that would be true.

"Severus spent much of his life serving as a spy for me. For us," Dumbledore answered. "He protected the school from Voldemort, just like he protected you as best he could for the six years you were at Hogwarts. And he helped you during the year you were searching for the Horcruxes. He brought you Godric Gryffindor's sword. If he does not want the world to know the truth, why should we force him?"

Harry frowned and retorted, "It's too late. He's in Azkaban now, and Mrs. Tonks has told everyone his secret. They know now."

That seemed to surprise Dumbledore, and Harry realized that, trapped in a portrait in the castle, he probably did not have as much access to information as he did while he was alive. But even though the old Headmaster looked surprised, he did not seem shocked. He must have known something, or at least had a suspicion about it, and as he had once told Harry, his guesses were usually correct.

"I gave Andromeda that memory so that she could use it to help him if necessary," Dumbledore mused after a moment of contemplation. "I did not think she would use it without his permission, but…" He trailed off, thinking, then shook his head, apparently coming to some conclusion. "I suppose I should have guessed that this could happen."

"Why?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore didn't answer that question. Instead, he asked one of his own, "Was Narcissa Malfoy in danger?"

"Yes," Harry answered, and waited for more explanation, but Dumbledore did not elaborate any further. The younger wizard narrowed his green eyes and said, "Why didn't Snape want the world to know?"

"That is something you will have to ask him," Dumbledore replied.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, to point out that he wasn't even sure if Snape would be released from prison, and that anyway, the last thing he wanted was to actually talk to the potions Master. But then he snapped his mouth shut and looked away, letting the words burn into his mind, but refusing to say them aloud.

"You should ask yourself, Harry, why this matters so much to you," Dumbledore advised softly.

There were so many answers he could have given to that. It mattered to him because his hatred of Snape had twisted in his stomach for years, a bitter resentment that would not go away. For so long, he had believed that Snape had betrayed them – betrayed Dumbledore – just like he had betrayed James and Lily. It brought out the worst in him, and he knew that. Would this truth make a difference? Would it lessen the anger he felt? Would it change anything for him?

But he supposed he knew the answer to that; it was already changing things. Now it was not just anger he felt, but confusion and bewilderment as well. If everything he had learned was true – and he sincerely believed that it was – then Snape had done many brave and incredibly dangerous things to keep him safe. To protect the world, to stop Voldemort.

On the other hand, he had been a Death Eater once. And he had committed crimes – torture, maiming, murder… Harry knew what the Death Eaters did to their victims.

"If Voldemort had not targeted me… and therefore my mother… would Snape have ever switched sides?"

Dumbledore didn't answer Harry's question. There was no answer he could give, it was a hypothetical question that probably could not be answered, not even by Snape. No one ever truly knew what they would have done, had a situation been different.

The real question, he supposed, was did it matter? Did a hypothetical possibility matter when it was not what had actually come to pass?

Did all Snape's good deeds erase his bad choices? Or did his bad choices forever outweigh his good ones?

The world was falling apart now, and he could sit back and let it crumble, or he could try, once again, to intervene, to save it. To make a difference. To finally bring the peace that he had fought for, that his parents and so many of the people he cared about had died for.

He rubbed his eyes with one hand, then let out a long, slow breath. He believed that Draco Malfoy was trying to change, trying to become a better person, and it was that belief that had led him to search out the other wizard and rescue him from Yaxley. Shouldn't the same hold true for everyone?

Didn't everyone deserve a second chance?

"I've been pardoned?" Kingsley asked, mouth hanging open. "I… wait… what?"

Aurora Borealis pushed a scroll of parchment across the table and said, "Sign at the bottom, please, Auror Shacklebolt."

Kingsley scanned the document – a standard release form – and picked up the quill that had been handed to him. He was seated at a table in one of the many rooms in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Madam Borealis was seated across from him, and another Auror stood at his back. The windows showed a beautiful day, a bright sun shinning from a stunning blue sky, golden rays of light illuminating everything.

It was almost as though the weather was celebrating his freedom.

But Kingsley was fairly certain that it wasn't actually that sunny out. He shook his head in slight amusement as he signed the form.

"The Wizengamot has determined that you were not responsible for the death of Minerva McGonagall," Madam Borealis announced. "Those charges have been dropped. They have also determined that you are also not guilty of treason." She paused, then added, "You have not, however, been cleared of some lesser accusations. You made contact with Severus Snape without the permission of the Minister of Magic. You acted outside the legal parameters of your job."

"I was trying…" Kinglsey started, but Madam Borealis cut him off.

"I know," she said, reaching across the table and resting her hand on his arm. "Auror Shacklebolt, I understand that you were doing what you thought was best at the time. But we have laws for a reason, and no one is above them. If you choose to break them, you must also accept the consequences of that."

Kingsley nodded slowly, "Yes. I understand." Then he added, "I still stand by the decisions I made."

Madam Borealis rose to her feet. "I had a feeling you would," she said with a faint smile. "The accusations leveled against you are not serious enough to require that you remain in Azkaban. It is likely they will not even be addressed with a full trial. You are free to go, with the stipulation that you do not leave the country without permission." She gave him a pointed stare and said, "I would hate to have to send the Aurors after you."

Kingsley watched her leave the room, then let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

He was free.