Title: All That Glitters
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Summary: "This is ridiculous," Ron grumbled, propping his elbows on the table. "We won. Why do we have to keep fighting?"
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost.
Chapter Thirty-Four: No Easy Walk (to Freedom)
Harry read the news the next morning in the Daily Prophet. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been released from Azkaban – this caused Ginny to leap to her feet and dance around the kitchen in joy – and Narcissa and Draco Malfoy had been arrested. There was no mention of Snape, which did not come as much of a surprise, or of Hannigan. There was a short article about Runcorn and Yaxley both being in prison.
"The new regime at the Ministry must be leaning on the Daily Prophet to report only what they want people to know," Hermione remarked as she scanned the paper over Harry's shoulder. "Until they figure out what to do about Snape, they aren't going to want the rest of the world to know what is going on. They're going to need to present that story a certain way if they want to keep control over the situation. And Hannigan… well, that was just a dark spot on their record. They'll want to keep him under wraps as much as possible."
Harry shook his head in disgust at the obvious censorship, and Ron muttered, "It's a newspaper. Shouldn't it tell the news?"
"It's a business," Hermione countered. "It exists to sell itself. Nothing more, nothing less."
Harry grinned at her words, remembering how angry she had been – how angry they had all been – at the Daily Prophet for what it printed in their fifth year at Hogwarts. It had been a hard lesson to learn, and somewhat embarrassing that they had to learn it from Rita Skeeter, but they had eventually accepted the fact that they could not ever trust the media to be impartial, to accurately represent the news. That was simply not how it worked. The Daily Prophet was a business, and businesses had to make money.
"Who is the new regime at the Ministry?" Ginny asked as she settled back into her seat at the table after Mrs. Weasley had glared at her for several seconds. "Without Hannigan, and with no Minister… who is in charge?"
Mr. Weasley looked up from spreading butter onto a slice of bread. "It's a little unclear. They haven't appointed anyone to Minister yet, but there are definitely power struggles happening behind the scenes. With both Amos Diggory and Hannigan no longer in the picture," he paused delicately at the mention of Diggory's untimely death before continuing, "it leaves room open for someone else to move in and take control. And there are a lot of people who are willing to make a move for it."
Harry stared down at the toast on his own plate and grimaced. "How will that play out in terms of the Malfoys?" he asked.
"It's too up in the air to know yet," Mr. Weasley replied thoughtfully. "A care can be made both for and against them, and it all depends on who ends up winning the power struggle, and what their opinions are. I don't think we will know anything for a while."
"This is ridiculous," Ron grumbled, propping his elbows on the table and leaning forward. "We won. Why do we have to keep fighting?" Mrs. Weasley shot him a look that clearly said to remove his elbows from the table and remember his manners, but he ignored it. After all, he'd just been released from the hospital, and now was the time to take advantage of the fact that his mother was far too concerned about him to stay angry for very long.
And sure enough, her glare faded and she ended up absently pushing a bowl of steaming porridge towards her son, silently urging him to eat more. Which he did, with a pleased smile on his face.
Harry watched the exchange, and did not answer Ron's question. There was no reason to say anything aloud. They all knew why they had to keep fighting, they all knew it was not over yet. Winning a war did not necessarily mean winning the aftermath, and this could go on for a very long time.
"Malfoy thinks you could intervene," Hermione said pointedly, reminding Harry of what she had already told him. "You could help them. You could help him." She paused, then added, "You could help all of us." She rested her hand protectively on Ron's arm as she spoke, as though afraid he might suddenly collapse and be carted off to the hospital again.
"Yeah, because it isn't like he's spent the last ten years trying to save the world," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes, and Hermione smiled.
"Yes, but the world isn't saved yet," a new voice said, joining the conversation, and all eyes turned to see Percy standing in the doorway of the room. His hair was ruffled and messy, and his eyes were rimmed by dark circles that accentuated his naturally pale skin. His entire expression seemed to sag underneath the weight of his grief, giving him a look of perpetual pain.
But he was there, standing before them, voluntarily enduring their presence, something he had not done since Penny's death.
"Percy!" Mrs. Weasley jumped to her feet and rushed to his side, smothering him in a tight embrace. Tears pricked at her eyes, making their way down her cheeks, and Harry wondered as he watched her if they were tears of pain at what her son had experienced or tears of joy that he was finally talking to her.
"Mum… Mum, really… please…" Percy's attempts to get himself released from the hug were all in vain, though that did not stop him from trying. "I just want to sit down… maybe eat something…"
"I don't think it will ever be saved," Harry said as Percy finally pulled himself free of his mother's embrace and slid into a chair at the table. He didn't want to say the words aloud, didn't want to admit that he was getting tired of this constant fighting, this continual need to stop the Dark from taking over. Even in his own head, it sounded absurdly selfish and self-pitying, and yet…
And yet, he still wanted the world to find some other champion to fight for it.
Mrs. Weasley shoved a plate piled high with several pieces of bread slathered in butter in front of Percy, and the redhead grimaced. Harry couldn't really blame him, it looked as though Mrs. Weasley was now determined to feed him until he burst as though she somehow needed to make up for the past few days when he would not eat at all.
After a few minutes of silence in which Ron stole a piece of toast from Percy's plate and Hermione slapped his arm in admonishment, Mr. Weasley interjected into the conversation, "What ever you do, Harry, be careful. If we've learned nothing else from the debacle with Hannigan, we should have at least learned that these are still dangerous times."
"Shouldn't you be getting into work, dear?" Mrs. Weasley reminded her husband suddenly.
He rose from the table and kissed Mrs. Weasley on the cheek. "True," he agreed. Then he clapped Percy on the shoulder and said, "You can take some more time off of work, can't you? No one expects you in right now."
Percy shrugged. "Honestly, things are so messed up at the moment, I don't think they would even notice." His words were gloomy and drawn, and he stared morosely at the table. Harry wondered how it felt for Percy to leave the Ministry in such shambles and not have to think about returning. So much of his life had been built around being the dutiful student and the dutiful employee. Now his workplace was falling apart, and he wasn't there.
"I'm glad you can be here," Mrs. Weasley said with a tearful smile. "You will continue to stay, won't you, Percy? Instead of going back to that flat?"
"I… I haven't decided yet," Percy admitted a little reluctantly. He glanced quickly at his mother, then looked away again and continued, "It has some of her belongings in it." He didn't say Penelope's name, but it did not matter. The name still rang in the silence, a reminder of what this had cost, of everyone and everything that they had all lost.
He also didn't say what he really meant – that part of him wanted to stay in the flat so that he could feel as though Penny might still be there, might still be alive and about to come over any minute. But the others knew what he had tried to explain, and they nodded slowly, understandingly.
"Do whatever makes you feel most comfortable," Mr. Weasley said with another pat on the shoulder for his son. Mrs. Weasley did not look pleased by that comment, she had obviously wanted her husband to convince Percy to stay with them. But she didn't say anything, and Percy gave a slightly pleased nod at that, at the fact that his family was willing to accept whatever choice he made.
Mr. Weasley left them, disappearing through the fireplace, and Harry stared at the spot where the older wizard had been.
"You will be careful, won't you, Harry dear?" Mrs. Weasley said, turning to him with a pleading stare. "Whatever you decide to do… just be… cautious. Danger always has a way of finding you, no reason to give it any help."
"I'll be careful," Harry promised, and Mrs. Weasley gave a tremulous smile and bustled from the kitchen.
Again, everything was silent. And the silence was not unwelcome, at least not for Harry. He hadn't yet figured out what he was going to do, and he relished the chance to think, to sort through all his options. He knew the first thing he had to do was see Kingsley, talk to him, try to figure out where they all stood. After that…
After that, what did he do? He wanted to help the Malfoys, or at least Draco and Narcissa, but he did not know how. And he still had no idea what his opinions were when it came to Snape.
He looked over at Ginny and saw that she had taken Percy's hand. Her fingers were interlaced with his, and though she was not looking at him, she was still somehow managing to convey warmth and sympathy through her touch.
"It's strange," Percy said after a moment, "but I was so angry with everyone. Dad and George and… Fred…" a choked whisper, the deceased twin's name just barely making it out of his lips, "and… well… everyone. After the argument. After everything they said and everything I did… And now I can't remember why it ever seemed that important."
"Yeah," Ginny agreed. "I know what you mean."
Harry stare at the two of them, lost in his own thoughts. Percy and Ginny were right, though, and he knew it. After everything they had all been through, the anger and the grudges and intense dislike he had always felt for Draco Malfoy no longer seemed that important. They were on the same side now, and at the moment, that was all that really mattered.
He got up and walked out of the room, and a moment later Hermione joined him in the living room.
"What are you going to do?" she asked without preamble.
"I need to talk to Kingsley," he answered, "and then I am going to do whatever is necessary to get the Malfoys out of Azkaban."
Kingsley was not at all surprised to find Harry stepping out of the fireplace, brushing soot and dust from his robes. The telltale signs of exhaustion could be seen in the green eyes of the Boy Who Lived, and the young face was lined with apprehension. But the expression still had the same steely undertone, the fierce determination that no, he was not going to back down, no matter what.
"Harry," Kingsley greeted him cordially. "Please, have a seat."
"Thanks," Harry replied as he slid into the indicated chair. He looked around the room for a moment, and Kingsley let the silence remain over them, knowing that the younger wizard was using this opportunity to gather his thoughts.
"You've been released," Harry said finally. His voice was muffled by something, some emotion that Kingsley did not bother trying to understand. Too much had happened since his incarceration that he did not yet know about, and it would be foolish and a waste of time to pretend that he could comprehend what had happened to the world in the past few days.
He only knew what had happened to himself, and that was enough to occupy his mind for the moment. His memories of Azkaban were not pleasant, to say the least.
"Are you still working on the Ministry?"
Kingsley shook his head. He knew Harry's question was really just a polite way of asking if he had been sacked. And he hadn't been, not officially. But it was only a matter of time before people started calling for his resignation, and no one who wanted to stay in power could allow him to remain against public will.
"I'm on temporary leave," he said smoothly, "but I imagine it will be permanent soon. Why do you ask?"
Harry shrugged moodily and didn't answer. It was clear he was lost in his own thoughts.
The Ministry had to be falling apart. Kingsley had not done enough investigating into that matter to figure out exactly how things stood, but he had asked some questions and discovered some answers. And he knew that with the previous Minister dead, Hannigan in Azkaban, and he himself currently still in suspicion, there were precious few who had the influence or power to keep everything together.
"This is… wrong," Harry said finally. "All of it. The Malfoys being in Azkaban, you not being Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement…" he trailed off with a heavy sigh. "Snape, even," he muttered. "It's all just wrong."
Kingsley nodded wearily. He had heard the rumors that had floated around since Andromeda's appearance at his trial, and he knew what people were saying about Snape. Some thought he deserved a chance to speak, to defend himself, others thought he deserved to rot his life away, forgotten behind Azkaban's dreary walls. He was curious to know the full story, to understand finally why Dumbledore had trusted him, why Narcissa Malfoy continued to protect him, and why even Harry was slowly starting to demand more answers before passing judgment.
But he doubted his curiosity would ever be fully answered. Jonathon Abbott was grabbing for power himself, and he looked well poised to influence the Wizengamot. Aurora Borealis was fair enough, but she was far too easily swayed by power and prestige, and Abbott would not find her difficult to manipulate.
And Abbott did not want Snape freed.
"I need to find a way to clear Malfoy's name," Harry said, interrupting Kingsley's thoughts. The Auror frowned and gestured for Harry to continue. "He helped us," Harry explained. "And he's just being used right now. By everyone. He shouldn't… he deserves a chance."
A chance for what, Kingsley wondered vaguely, still watching Harry closely. Before his imprisonment, Kingsley could clearly recall Harry's furious hatred of Snape and suspicion and distrust of Malfoy. What had changed? What could have happened that would allow him to so drastically alter his opinions?
"That's to be difficult," Kingsley said at last. "Malfoy and Snape are both beyond our help at the moment."
As Kingsley could have predicted, Harry exploded in outrage, "But they shouldn't be! We can't just do nothing!"
"I'm not suggesting that," Kingsley interceded swiftly, fighting back the urge to roll his eyes at the hot-tempered wizard who sat before him. Since the end of the war, since the defeat of Voldemort, Harry's temper had cooled, become more manageable. Only mentions of Snape had ever managed to illicit such a reaction from him. But that seemed to have changed.
Still, sometimes unreasonable temper was a benefit. In times such as these, with the rest of the world teetering precariously on the brink of disaster, it was the stubborn, hot-headed, and irrationally determined who had the greatest chance of forcing through the necessary changes.
"But," Kingsley continued, a smile starting to tug at the corners of his lips, "without the public knowing the truth, it is going to be difficult to set things right again. We face the same problem that occurred when Voldemort first returned, when the Ministry was hiding the truth. Which means…"
"The public needs to know," Harry mused, as he, too, smiled, catching the unspoken hint in Kingsley's words. With a satisfied expression, he added, "Hermione said Draco Malfoy told her that I would have the influence to make people listen to me."
"You do have that," Kinglsey agreed. "As you did before. Even if it was through a very… unorthodox… newspaper."
Harry rose to his feet. "Thank you. For the advice."
"Any time," Kingsley replied with a reassuring nod. "I care about this just as much as you do." He folded his hands together, fingers interlacing and leaned forward towards Harry's standing figure. "Give my greetings to Ms. Lovegood, won't you? And, I suppose, Ms. Skeeter."
"Of course," Harry promised, and the beginning of a plan was formed.
It would be impossible to get Rita Skeeter into Azkaban, Harry knew, which was a pity. The story would be so much better if she could interview Draco directly, but at least Harry knew most of the pieces. He could strings things together as best he could, and if there were any missing gaps, then he would address that issue when it came.
So it was with a hopeful attitude that he found himself, once again, sitting with Hermione, Luna, and Rita Skeeter, watching as the reporter's quill flew across the parchment before her, recording everything he said. The truth would not be easy for many to accept, and he himself did not like having to reveal so much about his own prejudices, his own mistakes. But he had made mistakes, and if he was going to demand that others pay for theirs, then he had to at least admit to his.
When the interview was over, Rita leaned forward and asked breathlessly, "Why are you so adamant that the truth be told? Why are you trying so hard to help them?"
Harry shrugged and looked over at Hermione and Luna. They, too, were waiting for an answer, and he said with reluctance, but with as much honestly as he could, "Because someone once told me that everyone deserves a second chance."
"Hi, Lily."
"Hello, Sev."
Snape leaned back against the cold wall of his cell and smiled at the phantom who was standing there. He held the stone in his hand, clutched tightly beneath his curled fingers, because he knew if he dropped it, she would disappear. And he didn't think he could stand that, didn't think he could allow himself to lose her right now.
The ice that usually seeped into his room and covered him in a numbing sensation of cold was gone. The Dementor outside his door would drift closer and closer, in fact he could hear the rustling inhale of the creature's long, drawn-out breaths. But with Lily there, he did not feel the negative effects, did not lose his grip on his sanity. He had precious few good memories, but they stuck with him, as long as Lily was there.
Of course, her presence could protect him from the Dementors, but it was not enough to keep out the inner demons that were now plaguing him. He began to pace restlessly, angrily, his tattered robes billowing about him. He had spilled his secrets to the Aurors, and now they knew the truth. How long would it be before the truth was known by everyone? How long before the entire world could pick over his thoughts, his memories, his past decisions and actions, and decide whether to applaud or condemn him?
It really should not have bothered him, because he never especially cared. There were very few people in this world who's opinions mattered to him, and most of those people were already dead, killed by this war. By the Dark Lord or his followers.
"If it gets you out of prison," Lily murmured, "then why is it so bad?"
"Because it's mine!" Snape hissed. "My secrets. My past. And I…" He stopped, shook his head as if to clear his muddled thoughts. There was a pause, a silence broken only by the continual drip of water that made its way in tiny droplets down the damp stone wall, falling over mildew and mold until reaching the floor.
"It isn't just your past," Lily pointed out. "And you are not the only one who has been affected by the decisions you made."
There was no reprimand in her voice, but Snape flinched all the same. She would never need to say it to him, but it would still be there, lingering in the air, the knowledge that he was responsible, in part, for her death. For James' death. For Harry growing up without parents, without a family that loved him.
He looked at Lily, eyes dark and shadowed, and asked, "What do you want from me?"
She laughed. "You're the one who called me, Sev. You're the one who turned that stone over in your hand and pulled me back from… what was it Albus used to say? Ah, right… the next great adventure." She sobered. "What do you want from me?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't answer. He knew he needed something, but it wasn't clear yet. Of course, things hadn't been clear in a while, not since his imprisonment in this place with these foul creatures that sucked all the happiness from the very air, leaving behind a depressing chill. Or had it even been before that? Had things stopped being clear when he first agreed to meet with Shacklebolt in a futile attempt to save Minerva McGonagall?
The lines had been blurred then, and he'd crossed right over them without even realizing it.
"What's it like?" he asked finally, falling back on academic curiosity to fill the space between them. "Death, I mean?"
"You know I can't tell you that," Lily chided.
He looked away from her. "It would be far easier, if I knew what was coming," he mused softly, under his breath so that she could not hear him. It wasn't death he was particularly interested in, but just the unknown, the future, and whatever might come from it.
Once, their roles had been reversed. Once, she'd been a scared child grasping for answers, afraid of what the new world might bring. Before Hogwarts, she had never been particularly brave. Oh, she'd pulled a few little stunts to impress Petunia, but the unknown still frightened her, and he'd had to reassure her on numerous occasions that she would fit in at Hogwarts, that it didn't matter that she was Muggleborn, that she'd never been a part of the wizarding world. Then, he was the one with answers, and she was the one asking questions.
Now, it seemed, their roles had changed. She had answers, and he was still left in fumbling in the dark.
"You have to let go," Lily said finally.
"Of what?" he asked sharply, turning to her. He was no longer angry – that took too much effort, and, anyway, it was hard to be angry in Lily's presence. But once the anger left, there was only numbness in its place, and he wasn't sure he liked that either.
"Of everything. Of the past," Lily answered.
'The past," Snape countered dryly, "is why I went to such great lengths to protect your son. Would you have me change that?" It was an unfair question, of course, because he knew that Lily would not change it. No mother who loved her son as much as Lily loved Harry would ever ask for someone to stop protecting him. Particularly when the insufferably meddlesome boy kept putting himself in harm's way.
Though he had great respect for Minerva and great love for Lily, it did not change his opinion of the group overall. As a general rule, Gryffindors were still fools.
But Lily surprised him by answering with a teasing grin, "Well, you're hardly going to protect him by staying in Azkaban. Though I can see why you would want to stay, the interior decorating is quite splendid."
Their previous conversation had been filled with emotion, with tears and anger and everything they'd never really managed to say to each other, all the loose ends and little pieces of the fragmented friendship that had been left strewn across the ground. They were both treading softly now, as though afraid to repeat what had happened, afraid to once again be thrown into that mess. In comparison, this exchange seemed sterile, stilted, even. Too clean, too picked over and pulled apart, too trivial.
That previous conversation had given them some kind of closure – a closure neither really wanted to ruin – but it still wasn't enough.
Snape couldn't let go. Not of her, and not of the past.
But Lily reached out to him suddenly, as though she wanted to touch him. Her fingers, pale and silver, paused in midair, hovering just above his arm. She was staring at his face, staring directly into his eyes with a determination that did not fade despite his own glower.
Time had made her braver than she'd once been. Time, and her brushes with the Dark Lord.
"Why now?" she whispered.
She didn't elaborate, didn't expand on the question, and he did not need her to. He understood what she was asking. Why did he call her now, when he had not needed to speak to her since their first meeting? He'd figured out what the stone was, what it did. He'd known for a while now that he had the means to speak to her at his fingertips, and yet until now, he'd not felt the need to use it.
What had changed?
They'd found out the truth. That was what had changed. Would he be given a trial? He had never expected that, and part of him had relished in the thought that he would be sent to Azkaban without any questions being asked. They could suck out his soul if they wanted, but as long as they didn't demand the truth, as long as they were never given a reason to mock him, to pity him…
"Do you now how many people die every second?" Lily murmured, letting her arm fall to her side, though her gaze did not leave his face. "And how many of those people truly deserve death? The world is not a perfect place. But you have the chance to avoid that, to live the life you deserve. Why do you insist on throwing it away?"
"What about living the life I want?" Snape demanded.
She stared at him, the spread her arms wide, gesturing to the cell around them. "Is this the life you want? Is it really?"
"I can't have the life I want," Snape muttered, and moved away from her.
Lily shrugged. "Neither can I," she pointed out, and though she did not finish the thought, Snape still heard the words she had not said.
At least you have a life.
"You know the story of the Deathly Hallows," Lily said softly, her eyes lowering to his hand, the one still clenched tightly around the precious stone. "You know what that is."
"A fairytale," Snape answered with a smirk. "No one ever meets Death on path through the woods. Only children are foolish enough to believe that."
Lily smiled, but it was a bittersweet expression, and the smile did not reach her eyes. In a voice tinged with sadness, she asked, "And tell me, Severus, in the fairytale, what happens to the second brother?" He gazed mutely at her, and she murmured, "There is no reason to dwell on the past, Sev, if it takes away any chance you have of a future."
He dropped the stone to the cold floor, and Lily disappeared, but not before he saw the lone tear make its way down her cheek. It was then that he realized that this own eyes were burning with unshed tears as well, and he blinked rapidly, forcing them away through sheer willpower.
The cell was cold again, and this time Lily had brought him very little comfort to keep away the ice.