Promises Defended

Promises Defended

Chapter Eight: Bridges Built and Burned

"Is it done?"

"It is, Master," Snape replied, kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes, but careful not to tip the flask from his pale hands. Some potions were most certainly not meant to be shaken, and this one would lose all effectiveness if even moved too quickly. Yet it was finished. Finally.

This potion had been his life's work, one he was both obscenely proud of and fervently wished he had never completed. A combination of no less than twelve different recipes (four of them so ancient that he'd had to reconstruct them from scratch and guesswork) and a dangerous infusion of dark magic, it was the most difficult thing Snape had ever brewed. He had been charged with this...this tragedy twenty-three years before, and had never thought to complete it. Yet he had, and he was honor bound to deliver.

So here he was, kneeling at his Lord's feet and torn. A fool would have suggested not giving this potion to the Dark Lord; a greater one would have suggested substituting poison in its place. But Severus Snape was neither, and no one was more aware of the thin line he walked than Snape was himself. Lord Voldemort and Remus Lupin, his two masters (so to speak), also knew, though only one of them truly understood him. The other--the more dangerous by far--only suspected the wavering of his heart, and could be given no evidence to support it.

So into Voldemort's hands went Snape's life work, a potion to grant immortality evermore.

"Well done," his darker master purred, accepting the offering, as it was his due.

"Thank you, Master," he replied, obedient servant that that he was

He simply called it the Elixir, nothing more grandiose or poetic. Severus did not normally name potions at all, even his own creations (once upon a time, that had been a duty he'd gleefully dumped upon first Julia Malfoy, and then Minerva McGonagall before her death), but this one warranted a name. So he'd called the potion what it was: the Elixir. His Elixir.

"I need not ask you if it will work, do I, Severus?" the cool voice asked, almost gently.

"I would stake my life upon it, My Lord," was the only answer possible.

"Have you?"

"There is but one portion," Snape replied honestly. He'd dared not even keep a sample for his own studies. This was the only batch, and there was only enough for one. "And I have destroyed the recipe, as ordered."

"Good."

He bowed his head, and watched long fingers beckon him to rise. Snape did so silently, watching and waiting as Voldemort turned the glass flask over, inspecting it with critical eyes. Finally, he glanced up at his potions master, arching an eyebrow. "And side effects?"

A chill ran down Snape's spine, but the cold feeling didn't keep him from feeling heartsick. "None, Master."

She'd wanted to ask him what he'd done to frighten them so, but had not dared. So, Hermione had told Harry about what had happened, about the fear in Lucius Malfoy's gray eyes and the way the Death Eaters had fled when faced by Sirius Black. (As much as she liked Bill Weasley, she certainly didn't think that he'd frightened them away; besides, Hermione had seen how Bill looked at Sirius, and the entire process made her wonder.) Keep distracting yourself. Harry was helping. He understood...mostly.

And she mostly managed to control the grief that so desperately wanted to control her. If I could have just one more day to tell them... Hermione swallowed back everything for the hundredth time. Sometimes, the memories were too much. At least I got to spend Christmas with them, she tried to tell herself. One last Christmas. She would not cry! Later.

They spoke in whispers, huddled together on the floor of her smallish room. Harry now slept in a sleeping bag on the floor of his fat cousin's room, which might have worried Hermione had the bigger boy not been downright terrified of magic. Now, she only imagined his face as one of the bullies back in her old Muggle school, terrified of what he did not understand and could hardly believe existed. Such thoughts were even amusing before reality sank in.

"I wish Ron was here," Harry said glumly, glancing up from the textbook in his lap. With nothing else to do, they'd resorted to studying, which Hermione knew drove Harry batty. He'd rather be doing anything else, but they were both stuck away from everything familiar, and Hogwarts was the only thing they could think to fall back upon.

"Me, too," she admitted. "But don't you dare tell him that!"

Harry snickered, and she laughed. It was good to laugh, and she could, so long as she didn't remember.

Hermione knew she would have to remember, of course. Sooner or later. There was no avoiding the truth, the past, or sheer reality. She knew that--she wasn't stupid, after all, and she'd seen how badly the war could hurt people. True, the harsh reality of loss had hit her hard that night, had finally become real, but Hermione knew she had to deal with her pain. She just didn't want to do it now.

Later.

There was a long moment of awkward silence, almost as if Harry could read her mind. He was shooting Hermione cautious looks out of the corner of his eye when he thought she wasn't watching, and looked uneasy. Acting on instinct, she opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, but then swallowed and closed it. There were some things that one just didn't want to know--

"Hermione?" Harry asked suddenly.

She had to swallow again. "Yes?"

"I was wondering...could I ask you something?"

"Of course." Hermione bit back the need to say something snarky. Harry was serious, and he didn't need that from her.

"So, are you...you know, going to live with us after this?" Harry asked in a rush, trying to get all the words out at once. He looked embarrassed to be asking. "During the other holidays?"

"I think so." Her parents' faces flashed before her eyes, and Hermione had to bite her lip. "From what Sirius said...I think so. If you don't mind."

The last sentence had come out far quicker than she'd intended, too frightened and too hopeful.

"I don't," Harry reassured her right away, and then smiled sheepishly. "I'd always wanted a sibling, but Mum and Dad didn't think it was safe. I've always been a bit jealous of Ron, because he's got so many..." He trailed off uncertainly, as if he was afraid of hurting her. "I'd be nice to have someone to talk to, anyway," he finished lamely.

"I brewed the greatest potion of my life six days ago," Snape muttered as he sank into a green armchair--always his--in the professor's lounge. Kingsley Shacklebolt, newly armless and now teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, threw him a strange look, but the potions master continued softly. "I brewed my masterpiece, one batch only, and then destroyed the recipe.

"And now Lord Voldemort is immortal."

"What?" Three heads snapped around to stare at him. Necks cracked sharply with the force of the sudden motion.

Remus was the only one who did not twitch; he only sighed. Ted Tonks--the new head of Gryffindor House following Mundungus Fletcher's suicide--was staring at Snape with wide and frightened eyes, while Shacklebolt looked eager to jump out of his seat and strangle the other man with his one good hand. Auriga Sinistra simply swallowed, tense on the couch where she sat next to Shacklebolt, and Sprout's mouth dropped open. Yet it was the normally frazzled Astronomy Professor who managed to say "What did you do?"

Snape folded his hands calmly. "After twenty-three years of trial and error, I brewed my Elixir. I assume that the Dark Lord has taken it by now, and is immortal. There are no side effects. He will not age, will not deteriorate. He will simply live."

"What?" Ted joined Sinistra this time, though for a far different reason. Remus leaned forward.

"Everyone in this room," he said quietly, feeling eyes focus on him--everyone except Snape's, and his mattered most--"is a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Everyone. Severus and I have brought you here today because he is also something else." Three sets of narrowed eyes stabbed at the potions master. "Severus, as you have undoubtedly surmised, is also a Death Eater. He was initiated the same day he left Hogwarts."

"Come to make confessions, Snape?" Shacklebolt rumbled acidly, his normally clear eyes dark. The stump of his right arm was hidden in his robes, but they all understood his bitterness. Chances were high that Snape had killed many of his friends. "A tad late, I think."

Severus seemed to be fighting the urge to roll his eyes, so Remus answered. "Severus is also the Order's longest surviving spy amongst Voldemort's followers."

"Twelve years last month," Severus supplied, still not bothering to look at the others. Outwardly relaxed though he appeared, Remus knew that stress was eating away at him. Sooner or later, he'd have to stop walking that thin line--he'd been suffering for far too long on behalf of people who hated him.

No one dared say a word until Remus nodded to Severus, who finally leaned forward and let his eyes sweep around the room.

"You are here--I am here--because Hogwarts will fall under attack soon." Collective gasps, save for Remus, who had seen this so often that he almost just wanted to get it over with. "I do not know the date, and could not tell you if I did, so do not ask. But we have known for years that this day will come."

"So why tell us now?" Ted asked quietly. "Why reveal yourself?"

"Preferably so you do not stun me in the back at the wrong moment," was the arch reply. "I may not appear to be on your side, but I am."

"Why should we trust you?" Ted pressed.

"Because he's telling the truth," Shacklebolt answered before Remus could get a word in. Snape shot the former Auror a strange look, and the larger man shrugged. "Many small inconsistencies make sense now," he explained. "And..." he shrugged, unwilling to go on. "It makes sense."

After a moment, Ted nodded, glancing at Sinistra and getting a tight smile in return. She knew, of course--had known for years--but that was another story entirely. "All right, then," he said slowly. "Now what?"

"The students return tomorrow," Remus replied. "We slip into the normal routine, but we must be on our guard. No matter what, remember what Severus has said today. His actions may save us...if we allow him to do so."

Footsteps on concrete floors.

Screaming in the background, and the footsteps hesitate. After a moment, they continue.

Black boots. Black trousers. Black robes. A choice has been made, and those who can escape have. It's those who remain that may die.

Grim determination.

Flash.

"Headmaster?" Sinistra asked gently. Remus was dimly aware of the fact that she'd asked him a question, so he smiled distractedly.

"I'm sorry--I must have been daydreaming. Would you repeat the question?"

She tried to smile back, but looked uneasy. "Why are the others not here? Is it because they are not members of the Order?"

"I'm afraid so," Remus admitted. "And I must ask you not to share this information with anyone...no matter what."

Hands shoved deep in his pockets against the cold, Sirius strolled next to James in a deserted Muggle park. Snow fell erratically, peppering both wizards with a slight white coating that neither was in a hurry to dislodge. It helped them look like the Muggles they were--momentarily--pretending to be.

"Remember when we used to go out to Muggle pubs, just for fun, to see who we could fool?" James asked wistfully, almost reading Sirius' mind.

"Yeah. Those were the days." Centuries ago, they seemed.

"Don't say it that way," James said suddenly, his voice tight. "It makes me feel old."

Sirius snorted. "We are old, Prongs."

"Not so much. We're barely over thirty." His oldest friend shot him a smile, but Sirius suddenly went empty. He had to swallow to hold the darkness at bay.

"There are more ways to count age than years, you know." Like ten of them, spent in hell. Don't think of that. Sirius shook his head as James replied.

"I know. And I'm--"

"Don't say it," he cut him off. "Even if I make a hash of this, and become the next Dark Lord, don't ever say you're sorry. I made my choice." Sirius glared. "My choice, James. And I would do it again, even if I had to walk the exact same road and take the exact same risks."

"Don't even joke about that," was the shaky reply. "You're not ever going to become--"

"Of course I'm not." Sirius cut James off again, this time much more reassuringly. Even if we both know I could very well be lying. "It's just the worst case scenario."

"Don't even say that," James whispered.

"Sorry." The apology sounded empty, so he changed the subject. "Interesting meeting, that. I think Umbridge was eavesdropping at the door."

James snorted. "Nothing new there. But Fudge is up to something."

"That's hardly news."

"No, but I think it's something big," the Minister of Magic replied thoughtfully. "I know him pretty well now, and I'm certain that this is different."

"Betraying the Ministry to Voldemort kind of different, or slimy politician kind of different?" Sirius asked.

"Politician."

"Ah. Well, that's a relief." He cracked a smile. "Now, I know it's your problem."

"My problem?" James demanded.

"Yup. I handle dark wizards, you handle politicians. Didn't you get that memo?"

And James laughed, which was music to Sirius' ears. There was far too little laughter in his life these days, and making someone else laugh had always been a balm for his wounds. He could even smile freely, now, and chuckle at the offended look on his friend's face.

They'd just returned from Sirius' first department head meeting since his disappearance, and it had been obvious that the others had been slightly shocked to see him. The Wizarding world had swallowed his return fairly well; reporters still tended to ask what he'd been running from or what he had to hide, but on the whole, most people accepted that Sirius had done what he'd had to do, and then returned. Besides, one good glare seems to chase the reporters away these days, he thought wryly. They don't really want to deal with me, either.

Nor did Fudge. He'd tried to demand that Sirius be replaced, but had been voted down by the others--unanimously. They were all grasping at straws, of course, looking for their mythical hero, but Sirius was willing to shut his mouth and deal with it so long as they left him alone and let him do his job. Even Fudge seemed to understand that, and Sirius hadn't even had to beat the knowledge into him.

In retrospect, he supposed that it had been just a little too easy. James was right; Fudge had to be planning something.

"So, what do you think it is?" he asked when they'd stopped laughing.

"I have no idea. Just a feeling, really." James frowned. "I wish Remus was here. Maybe he could see something...but he's far too busy."

"You might be able to tear him away from Hogwarts in a few days," Sirius suggested.

"Maybe. Until then, I'll manage. It's not like I don't have practice dealing with the slimy bastard."

"And his toadstool. Don't forget his toadstool. You've got to deal with that, too."

James tried to roll his eyes, but the effort vanished into laughter. "But she is a toad!" he objected.

One by one they came, trickling off the Hogwarts Express like so many water droplets, laughing and joking and glad to be back. Remus knew the exact number of students by heart, knew every name and every face, and by Merlin he was so proud of them for facing the darkness and dangers and returning. Even if there was this deep sense of foreboding building inside of him, growing and gnawing at his soul. Remus was glad to see them...even knowing that the number would not remain the same, and within a month or two, some of those faces would be gone.

He swallowed back pain, forced away the teacher's protective nature. The Dark Lord would attack Hogwarts with or without students behind her walls, and he'd almost hoped that Voldemort would do so during the holidays. A Christmas attack would have made an excellent statement, if a bit too cliché for this Dark Lord. It had been done before. Yet he could send them home--this instant--or, better, could have prevented them from returning. Any sane headmaster would have done so. The board of governors even pressed for him to close the school, to keep the children safe.

But the sad truth was more complicated. Most of these students were safer at Hogwarts, especially the Muggleborns and Halfbloods. They stood a higher chance of dying, one by one, when Death Eaters attacked their families and homes. Of course, the children of Death Eaters were safer elsewhere, but most of the students were better off at Hogwarts. Here, some of them might die, Remus thought behind an impassive face. Separated, most would.

One last look.

They didn't know he was watching from inside the first of the horseless carriages, and Remus intended to keep it that way. Gone where the days when he was just another professor, accessible to all his students and easy to get to know. His responsibilities were greater now, but so was his distance, and Remus knew that he frightened some of the younger students, especially recently. The visions were beginning to make him unpredictable and distractible, even at the best of times.

Almost on cue--

Children in the woods, running. Running. Running the wrong way--but so right. Courage was not limited to adults.

Trelaweny speaking, her eyes rolled back in her head and blood running down one cheek.

Voldemort puzzling over words, scrawled on a piece of paper in familiar handwriting. His voice was soft, and he was alone, as he muttered:

"When darkness darkens innocent eyes..."

The present snapped into focus. He knew those words! Remus felt a sudden surge of triumph, of almost forgotten victory. But then his eyes fell upon sad Hermione Granger surrounded by Weasleys and Harry Potter, and the visions took him once more.

A little older, and a little wiser, Hermione Granger sat cross legged with the end of some sort of candy sticking out of her mouth. She smiled around it as Ron Weasley and Harry Potter threw chess pieces at one another in frustration, and the other Weasley boys shrieked with laughter. Lee Jordan sat beside Ginny Weasley--definitely older--as she struggled to pull a tangle out of her long red hair. He was throwing marbles at Fred and George every time he thought they weren't looking.

Lee Jordan?

The Gryffindor common room was warm; a fire crackled in the corner and an enchanted paper airplane flew laps around a couch. Everyday--normal--laughter and studying, Hermione opening her mouth to remind the boys about some essay or another, because if they didn't do it, they'd never pass their O.W.L.s--

Snap.

The carriages were moving, and the present closed in on Remus as his head whirled. Another term was beginning; he had responsibilities to the now. He sat back, sighing quietly to himself and wishing that he had more control over his strange powers, yearning desperately for just one more look. The scene had been so familiar and yet so different...it reminded him of days far in the past, a lifetime long gone. Four boys had once smiled like that, but their innocence had been stolen by war.

And there is only one way to get that back, Remus told himself, suddenly grim. He'd never been a warrior, never wanted to be one. He was better at defensive spells than offensive, had always been and would always be. But the wolf inside him suddenly wanted to attack, and for the first time in his life, the human was not interested in fighting the wolf back.

Almost, he consoled his wolfish instincts. The time has almost come. Laughter floated up from behind him, and Remus nodded to himself.

Almost.