Title: All That Glitters
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Author's Note: We're getting very close to the end of the story. In fact, there will only be two more chapters after this. So I hope you've all enjoyed it so far and that you find the ending... satisfactory. Which I guess is my way of telling you not to expect everything to come together perfectly.
Summary: And he let the Stone fall from his hand. This time, he was going to save himself.
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost.
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Somebody Save Me
November 3, 1981…
His first thought was to hunt down Sirius Black, to find the traitor and hex him until he begged for mercy. It had been a long time since he had felt anything akin to this, to the furious rage rushing through his veins. The venom was acrid and acidic, it burned everything it touched and left him feeling like a hollow husk, a mere shadow of what he had been, of everything he hoped to be.
He knew he wasn't the only one looking for Black. The Dark Lord's defeat gave people a reason to celebrate, but the deaths of James and Lily Potter were painfully hard for others to bear. The Aurors would be looking for the traitor, now that they knew what he had done. And perhaps that damnable werewolf and the mousy Pettigrew would look for their supposed friend as well.
There would be a funeral. Dumbledore himself would probably save a few words, maybe even give the eulogy. But Black wouldn't be there, and Potter would be the one they were burying, so the four Marauders were no more.
He stared blankly at the amber liquid inside his glass. He was rarely one to drink, having spent far too much of his childhood witnessing his father's violently drunken tempers. But alcohol, he knew, was supposed to make someone forget. It was supposed to dull the pain, to ease away the ache that had settled in his chest.
His first thought had been to hunt down Sirius Black, but he hadn't done it.
He fantasized about it for a moment, though, wondering if there were enough spells to fully punish the wizard. What would it take for Black to feel this pain? What would it take for him to know what he had done, to fully understand just what he had taken from the rest of the world?
He wanted vengeance.
He wanted Lily.
The old tavern was almost empty. The night before it had been packed, filled with wild, boisterous, completely inebriated witches and wizards celebrating the downfall of the Dark Lord, lifting their glasses, mugs, and tumblers with toasts to the Boy Who Lived. He hadn't joined in the festivities then, because really, what was there to celebrate?
Lily was dead.
He had agreed to protect her son. He had promised Dumbledore he would expend his energy, waste the rest of his life, protecting her son. The child with her eyes.
He liked the quiet of the bar. It was gloomy without all the revelers, but it matched his mood so he did not mind. He had never been one to fit in with the loud-talking, rambunctious types, and in the solitude of his corner in the dingy tavern, he stared morosely at his drink and welcomed the silence.
His first thought had been to hunt down Sirius Black, but he hadn't done it, and now he couldn't quite remember why. At the time, there had seemed to be a good reason. He'd learned long before many others that the Dark Lord was gone, thanks to the sudden fading of the Dark Mark etched into his skin. He had hoped that Lily was not gone as well, but then the news had come, and…
And the urge to hunt down Black had been equal only to the pain in his chest, the feeling that all the joy had gone out of his life. He hadn't spoken to Lily in years, and yet somehow, knowing that she was alive… and happy… had made everything seem just a little bit more bearable.
She was gone now. Thanks to Black. And the Dark Lord.
And himself.
August 31, 1991…
With the students soon to be arriving and the start of another school year upon them, Snape was more than a little surprised to find the Headmaster leaning against a wall with his eyes closed. The corridor was empty, and there did not appear to be anything remarkable about any of the surrounding area, and yet for some reason Dumbledore looked as though he had been drained of all energy, of all strength.
"Ah… Severus." The old wizard opened his eyes and gave the younger potions Master a faint smile that seemed somewhat strained around the edges. "How have your preparations for classes gone?"
"Fine," Snape answered, dark eyes fixing on the Headmaster, searching his face for some kind of clue.
Dumbledore nodded, then looked wearily towards the door on his right. It was a plain-looking door, and Snape could not remember what was behind it. A closet, or an unused storage room, perhaps?
Snape reached a hand towards the doorknob.
"You don't want to go in there," Dumbledore said, his voice sounding a little bit stronger than it had moments before. He pushed himself off of the wall and rubbed the back of his head with one hand, long gray hair falling through spindly fingers.
Whatever else could be said about Dumbledore, he had always seemed to radiate strength and confidence. It unnerved Snape to see him looking so forlorn.
Recklessly, Snape pushed the door open despite the Headmaster's warning and stepped into the room, his gaze sweeping about, looking for a sign, anything that could explain the old wizard's strange behavior.
It took only a moment for his gaze to fall on the mirror, on the faint glimmer of moonbeams that reflected off of its surface, casting light and shadows across the room. The air was filled with dust motes hanging suspended in the sudden stillness that covered everything. He looked at the mirror, and saw in the clear surface of the mirror a set of brilliant green eyes looking back at him.
He moved closer to the mirror, drinking in the sight before him. Lily's reflection turned away from him and looked at the man standing next to her, and it took Snape a moment to realize that it was himself. He was standing by her side, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, and she was gazing up at him with adoration.
His breath caught in his throat.
He blinked several times, his mind feeling sluggish and numb. He knew this wasn't real, it couldn't be real. Lily was dead, and yet there she was in front of him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, from the smile on her lips, from the look of contentment in her eyes. His own face was relaxed as well, far more relaxed than he could ever remember feeling, and yet…
And yet none of it made.
"Lily?"
The word was a whisper, soft and gentle, almost a plea.
Something moved in his line of vision, and quite abruptly the mirror was covered with a dark cloth, black linen falling over the smooth surface in waves and ripples of fabric. The simple of act of covering the mirror broke the spell that had fallen over him, snapping him back into the jarring, hollow reality. Everything settled over him like a rush of cold water – Lily was dead – and he fought to keep back the shattering of pain in his chest.
He turned and saw Dumbledore standing in the doorway, his wand outstretched, his eyes fixed on the black cloth that he had conjured from thin air to cover the mirror. The lines of his wizened face seemed deeper, more prominent, and there was no sparkle in his blue eyes.
He looked… old.
Snape stumbled backwards, taking a faltering step as he found himself dangerously close to the enchanted mirror. He froze, knowing he was close enough to spin around and snatch the cloth from the mirror… to see Lily again…
"Severus…"
The wild, nearly uncontrollable desire to be in her presence was overpowering, and almost drowned out the faint whisper of the Headmaster's voice.
Almost.
He forced himself to step away from the mirror.
June 20th, 1995…
He honestly had not ever imagined he could feel horror quite like this.
No one was quite sure what was happening, given that the hedges of the maze had grown far too high to see the four champions. At the time he had heard of the plans for the Third Task, he had thought derisively that it seemed rather pointless to have the entire school sit on the bleachers around the Quidditch field and stare at a bunch of shrubs while they weighted for the winning champion to appear. Now, he wondered if perhaps it was a bad idea for a completely different reason – would panic erupt?
Most of the crowd hadn't figured out yet that something was wrong. Through the sea of students, he caught a glimpse of Dumbledore moving towards the maze, his expression concerned. Minerva was there as well, looking over her shoulder as though hoping to find someone or something specific.
Snape felt a sharp clenching in his stomach. Something was wrong, he knew that much for certain. He just didn't know what it was.
But the fact that his own apprehension was so clearly reflected on the faces of the Headmaster and the transfiguration Professor only served to heighten his unease.
He pushed towards them, slanting a quick look towards the right, towards the maze. They'd removed Krum and Ms. Delacour from the maze, leaving only the two Hogwarts champions inside…
Where were they?
And then, and then…
He felt it.
The sharp, searing pain he had not felt in years. The explosion on his skin that signaled the darkening of the now-faint etching, the calls, the summons…
It had been growing darker every day for the past year, filling him with a troubled dread. There was only one possible conclusion, and while he and Dumbledore had spoken quietly about the issue, about the possibility, for nearly twelve months, it did little to stop the wave of terror that momentarily accompanied the burning sensation.
One hand instinctively clamped over the opposite arm, and across the mass of people, Dumbledore turned and caught his eye, blue eyes already filled with suspicion of what had happened.
"He's back," Snape whispered, his words ignored by everyone around him. Dumbledore was at his side a moment later, Minerva behind him, and Snape lifted dark eyes and said again, "He's back."
All three looked towards the maze.
What had happened? Where were the two Hogwarts students? Had something happened to them?
Had something happened to Potter?
The Dark Lord was back, his own life could be in danger. The rest of the world was in certain danger, and Potter and Diggory… Only God – and the Dark Lord – knew what had happened and what would happen to them.
And yet his first thought, his only thought, was for Lily.
I'm sorry, Lily. I swore I would protect your son, and… I didn't. I'm sorry.
He honestly had not ever imagined he could feel horror quite like this.
Spring, the distant past…
A faint light shone in through the grimy window, illuminating the rather dingy and unorganized study. The desk was overflowing with parchment, and several books were carelessly discarded on the floor. Everything – from the threadbare rug on the dirty floor to the stained cloak draped over the stiff-backed chair – was covered in a thick layer of dust as though no one had bothered to clean in ages.
In fact, no one had bothered to clean the room in ages.
The rest of the house held a similar appearance, though perhaps with a more stale and still air, for it was only in this room that there was any movement.
The man, the sole occupant of the room, had a sunken expression in his nearly lifeless eyes, and his shaggy, unkempt hair hung over his thin face, accentuating the dark circles under his eyes as the paleness of his clammy skin. He slumped over onto the chair, leaning forward as he gazed at the bottle clutched tightly in his bony hands, at the liquid that sloshed inside the clear glass vial.
He thought of nothing but that liquid.
And a girl. A girl he loved.
Had he forgotten about the rest of the world? Had he forgotten that the sun was shining outside the window, that spring had finally warmed the cold earth? Had he forgotten that the world still spun, time still moved on, that the seasons came and went and there was a life to be lived?
Had he forgotten his own child? The heir that would continue his line, a line that would eventually produce the greatest Dark Lord of all time?
He uncorked the vial.
On the desk in front of him was a stone, dark and smooth and seemingly innocuous. A stone that held a power far greater than many others would ever believe. A stone that called upon the power of love – his love – and turned it into something dark and twisted.
She was there, an imprint of the past, a memory. Faint and faded, never alive, but never able to move on. He had called her back, but she wasn't back completely. He could not touch her, could not feel her warm skin, her beating heart. Could not hear her draw a breath. He could see her before him, and yet…
She was not alive.
He lifted the vial to his lips.
Poison. Death. And a chance to be with her again.
And so Cadmus Peverell drank.
Present day…
He knew the story, of course. His father's hatred of all things magical had not kept his mother from telling him the occasional bedtime story. His father hadn't ever paid enough attention to those whispered stories to realize just what they were – he had never paid enough attention to his son or his wife in anything – and Snape had cherished those recollections as the few truly good moments he had had with his mother.
He had vague memories of the story of the three brothers who had met Death beside a river.
He knew what happened to each brother.
And he knew the story was supposed to serve as a warning. A warning not to desire power too much, for fear of being killed by those who want it more. A warning not to cling too hard to the past or the dead, for fear of being forced to join them. A warning not to be too greedy, to want too much.
But it did not stop him from conjuring Lily's phantom once more.
"Severus…" There was a pleading in her voice as she stepped closer towards him, the warmth of her glow almost reaching through the cold of his skin. "Please. You have to let me go."
"I can't," he said, shaking his head. All his life had been built around her. Everything he had ever done, it had all been for her. Joining the Death Eaters, seeking power, had been his misguided attempt to prove that he was good enough for her. Turning away from the Death Eaters had been a desperate attempt to save her life. Both choices had been for her… and both choices had failed.
All he had ever done was drive her further and further away.
Until he had driven her to James Potter.
"You have to," Lily argued. "I don't belong here." She let her gaze wander around the dismal cell, then added softly, "And neither do you. This isn't right."
He snorted. "Right and wrong hardly matter anymore."
Not everything is gray. There's a lot of it, but… some things are clearly right. And some are clearly wrong. And that doesn't change, no matter what.
Snape pushed away from her and walked towards the uncomfortable cot that had served as his bed for however long he had been in this prison. He sat on the edge, dark hair falling over sallow features, black eyes staring at the stone floor.
That infuriating boy had managed to utter a statement, a simple question, that had shaken him, left him frustrated and unsure. How many times had he allowed his own beliefs to be so questioned by a child?
By a Potter?
"You don't believe that," she argued, and there was an edge to her voice, a firmness to the words as though she was practically daring him to contradict her.
He didn't look at her as he answered, "Everything I ever did was for you. But I still failed. I still…"
"Harry is alive. You didn't fail." There was a pause, then the phantom continued, "But you still have to let me go. I still don't belong here, in this world."
His gaze snapped up and he said in a bitter tone, "Let me guess, you belong with your precious James Potter in the afterlife?"
She reeled back, the tears pooling momentarily in her eyes, and he wanted to swallow his words, to tell her that he did not mean it, that he was sorry. That he never wanted to see her look at him with such hurt. But she blinked and averted her gaze, and he looked back at the floor.
I mean, I know you hated my father, but did you really hate him enough to want him dead?
He gripped the fingers of one hand tightly along the edge of the cot. The image of James Potter's face floated before him for a moment, and then he shoved those thoughts away.
The anger still bubbled in his stomach and seeped upwards into his chest.
Lily wasn't crying, he noted as he slanted a look at her, but her expression was closed and guarded. She still wasn't looking at him, and she had to swallow once or twice before she spoke, as though clearing a lump that had formed in her throat.
"Who I belong with is not the issue," she said, her words colder than he would have wished. "The issue is the where. I'm dead, Severus. And you aren't."
"You don't have to lie to me, Lily," he answered coolly. "If you want to go back and spend time with your husband, just say it." He knew there was some truth to his words, he knew that he was keeping Lily from resting in peace. He had pulled her back, forced her to come into this world, torn her away from James Potter. He knew it was wrong, but…
He needed her. Didn't she know that?
He wasn't sure if he had said the words aloud, or if she was simply able to read his mind. But she shook her head and said firmly, "You don't need me. You shouldn't need me. What can I tell you that you do not already know? What can I give you that you do not already have? I'm dead."
And she was the only reason you came back? What would have happened if…
He rose to his feet, his words coming out in a rush as Potter's earlier question echoed in his mind, "Don't you understand what you've already done for me? Don't you see that you've made me a better person? Don't you realize that? How can you say I don't need you?"
She moved closer to him, her lips turning into a bittersweet smile. "I've got nothing to give," she murmured, stretching her arms to either side, displaying the emptiness as though to prove her point.
"You can… help me…"
She shook her head. "I can't help you if you won't help yourself," she answered. "And look around you. Look where you are. You clearly aren't trying to help yourself."
"You don't know that," Snape spat. "You don't know me."
She looked at him sadly. "No. I suppose I don't." She turned and walked away from him. "But I know you protected my son."
You took a point off because of something Neville did, something that was in no way my fault. You accused me of letting him screw up so that I would make myself look good. Why? Why did you hate me so much?
He could not get Potter's words out of his mind. For all the things the boy had ever done, all the times he had been reckless, careless, disrespectful, arrogant, or wrong… that had not been one of them.
That time, Snape had been the one at fault.
But how was he supposed to look at the son of his tormentor and not feel anger? How was he supposed to see Lily's eyes in Potter's face and not feel hatred? How was he supposed to let go of the past?
The past was all he had.
He didn't want to fight with Lily. He just wanted to sit next to her, to enjoy her presence, to feel at peace.
And she would give him none of those things.
He sank to the floor, leaning against the wall.
"Everything has been for you," he said again, a low whisper. "You were the only one worth anything…"
"I shouldn't have been," she replied. There was another silence, then she sighed heavily and asked, "When are you going to live? When are you going to recognize that life is worth fighting for?"
He looked down at the Stone in his hand.
"Let me go, Sev."
"I can't."
The same argument. The same demand, the same answer.
The same question.
"Why not?"
His reply, a whisper so low she could not hear, "I don't know… how to… do this…"
He had spent his entire life thinking about her. He had made all his decisions based on what he thought she would want. He had let his love for her guide him between right and wrong.
If Voldemort hadn't targeted me, would you still be on his side? If my mother had never been in any danger, would you have ever… would you still be killing, torturing, maiming…? Did you ever care about what was right and what was wrong?
"You know right and wrong. You don't need me for that," she said, her voice shaking. He looked at her, and saw that she was crying. She licked her lips, then said, "Just… promise me you will try to be happy. Please."
She was begging.
He climbed slowly back to his feet.
He did know right from wrong.
He had walked away from the Mirror of Erised. He had walked away from the temptation that lay before him then, the desire to spend all his time staring at her, living in his own dreams of what might have been. He had had the strength then…
And he had it now.
He was not Cadmus Peverell.
He looked at her, one last time taking in the red of her hair, the sparkling green of her eyes…
"Goodbye, Lily," he said.
"Goodbye, Sev," she answered.
And he let the Stone fall from his hand.
This time, he was going to save himself.