Promises Defended

Promises Defended

Chapter Nine: Loyalty and Trust

In retrospect, it was the only thing he could do, if he wanted to regain their respect. Trust he dared not ask for--not from these men and women, whom he had abandoned so callously (and would do again, if the situation required it)--but respect he needed. Regardless of what they really thought of him, Sirius needed the Aurors to follow him. So he had told them of his road, of what he intended to do, and of the promise made to himself in the midst of a dark night. I will do what he has done, he told them calmly. I will walk the road Tom Riddle walked. I will become Lord Voldemort--but I will not lose myself.

For the first time, he'd been able to say those words and mean them. A miracle had happened, and it was the same miracle that had happened twenty-two years before: four friends, like brothers, had bonded and would not let go. They'd not let him fall, and Sirius knew that now. He only prayed that he'd remember not to lock them out.

Overall, the Aurors took the news fairly well. Better than he'd expected, even if Sirius was still too often the recipient of strange, half-frightened looks. Most of them seemed to admire him for taking such a risk, and none of them understood that someone had to. But he'd stopped trying to explain himself within a few short hours of his return to Avalon with Bill Weasley and Hermione Granger. There'd simply been nothing more to say.

During the intervening week and a half, he had built the island's defenses up, feeling that it hated him even as he struggled to protect it. Avalon did not embrace the darkness, could not. It was, and always had been, the Isle of Light. Of hopes, of dreams, of a world that might yet be again.

Sirius grimaced at his own thought process. Hope. He'd not allowed himself to feel it for a long time, yet now the emotion seemed...contaminating. Damn his friends for breaking through to him once more, damn them for caring. Damn him for letting them--but he was finally beginning to see the line between himself and Voldemort. The difference. The chance that might make it possible to win, even survive, this war. He'd been fighting so long that he almost did not believe an end was possible. Still--

"Sirius?" Alice Longbottom's voice; her hand hovered over his shoulder as if wondering if she dared touch him or not.

He jerked out of his reverie. "Yes?"

"I've been thinking. About that meeting yesterday." She chewed on her lip briefly, eyes narrowed. "Fudge seemed awfully eager to know where you were staying."

"And even more eager to be rid of me completely."

Alice shook her head. "I don't think so. In fact, I think he wants you to stay--for the moment."

"What are you saying?" Sirius peered at her, noticing for the first time the lines that worry had etched into her face and feeling guilty.

"That Fudge wants...well, I'm not really sure exactly what he wants, but it's got something to do with you," she replied. "The entire time you were gone, he hammered the Aurors. He was convinced that we knew where you'd gone off to, and that we were protecting you."

"Were you?"

"A bit," his deputy admitted. "We knew you'd come back when you were ready."

Sirius snorted. "Even I didn't know that. Not for sure."

"We did." Alice smiled, just a little. "You'd fought for too long to give up now." Her voice dropped as she unconsciously echoed his earlier thoughts. "Or even to see an end to this, somewhere beyond the horizon."

"Yeah." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Somewhere. Sometime." Somehow.

"How long are you willing to last, Sirius?" the soft voice whispered in his ear. "What use is there in resisting, when I have all the time in the world?"

He did not answer, could not. He would not answer, and they both knew why.

"They think you're dead," Voldemort continued. "Why not make it so? Why not just give up and die? End the pain?"

Again, he was silent, staring at the ceiling dizzily, then closing his eyes to fight the tears back. Three faces came to mind, then, so clearly that he might have sunk eight years into the past and lived again. But when he opened his eyes they were gone, replaced by bony pale features and glowing red eyes. Voldemort's expression was almost compassionate.

"But we both know you won't, don't we, old friend?" he said softly. "The beauty and the tragedy of your situation is that you won't give up. You never will. In that, we're very much alike."

A soft laugh.

"And you wonder why the offer still stands."

Reality again.

A chill ripped down his spine, and he reached out tentatively, like a little boy testing the ocean's temperature with one toe.

Are you there?

Heartbeat, then the equally surprised answer.

Are you?

"You've got to see this," Ron repeated, pulling Harry and Hermione down the front stairs and towards the castle's front doors. There were lots of windows, of course, but Ron was always one to do things the hard way. "C'mon!"

"We're coming, Ron," Hermione retorted, almost tart enough to sound like her old self. "There's no need to drag us."

"Of course there is." Ron grinned at her.

Despite himself, Harry snickered. "What are you going on about, anyway? That was a perfectly good game of chess Ginny and I were playing--"

"You were going to lose, anyway," his best friend informed him knowledgably. "Besides, this is much better."

"Oh, and why is that?" Hermione demanded. "It's just a storm."

Of course, that discounted the fact that Ron Weasley absolutely adored thunderstorms, and would gladly drag the other two out in them whenever he got the chance. He even liked to play Quidditch in storms, which even Fred and George weren't too keen on doing. Nutters, they called him, and Harry had to agree (on occasion) that they were right.

"This," Ron replied, throwing open the doors, "isn't just a storm. Look at it!"

Strange colors of black and gray were swirling in the sky, and lighting flashed every two or three seconds, giving the landscape surreal brightness and sharp edges. Trees leaned over sideways in the wind, shaking so hard that Harry thought they might uproot at any moment and go flying into the heavens. The clouds were especially low, especially dark, and moving extraordinarily fast. But there was no rain. No rain at all.

"Something's not right," Hermione whispered just as Harry said:

"This isn't a natural storm."

Ron nodded, suddenly serious. "There's power in the air. You can feel it."

"We have to tell someone," Hermione said immediately, starting to turn away.

"I already did," Ron replied glumly. "Professor Sprout told me not to worry, but Professor Shacklebolt was listening. He went to the headmaster's office, I think."

In the two short weeks since Kingsley Shacklebolt had come to Hogwarts, their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had quickly grown into a school favorite. The Slytherins even seemed to hate him less than they'd hated the haunted and tragic Professor Fletcher, and even Malfoy didn't dare cross him. Shacklebolt's dark eyes and lost arm were a testament to the battles he'd survived, and there wasn't a student in the school who dared snicker when he wielded his wand a bit clumsily with his left hand. He came to class with a new right arm about once every two days--from what the Misfits had guessed, the none of the types that the healers had tried on him worked very well. Even one-armed, though, Professor Shacklebolt was not to be trifled with.

"What's that?" Ron suddenly asked, elbowing Harry to get his attention.

"Wha--?"

"There!" Hermione pointed.

Shadows were moving in the trees, far away in the Forbidden Forest. For a moment, Harry flashed back to the giants' attack almost exactly one year ago, but he instinctively knew that this wasn't the same. Voldemort wouldn't try the same thing twice. Would he?

"What is that?" Ron whispered.

"I don't know," Hermione replied, squinting into the growing haze. Harry, too, stared intently, until a hand landed on his shoulder and he jumped.

"It's time to go inside, you three," Professor Shacklebolt rumbled quietly.

"Professor, there's something out there," Hermione objected.

"Bill?"

She grabbed his arm suddenly, dragging him out of his chair and across the room. He and Tonks had been sitting quietly in the library, going through applications for class 4905, but her short attention span had a habit of slowing things down quite a bit. This wasn't the first time Bill's young student had pulled him away from work to look at something interesting, and he started to protest until he looked out the window. Tonks was staring at the sky.

It was black.

"Not again," Bill hissed under his breath, quickly calculating who was on Avalon and who wasn't. Most importantly, Sirius wasn't there, which meant they couldn't depend on him for any miracles when the Dark Lord came to call. For a moment, Bill toyed with the idea of Fire-Calling the Aurors' head, but he immediately decided against it. Sirius might very well be what Voldemort was after, and denying him that was at least a victory. He'd not lead their world's only hope into a trap.

"What is it?" Tonks demanded. "What's happening? This isn't a normal storm."

Thank Merlin that she understood that intuitively; Bill didn't have time to explain. "Darkness," he breathed, now grabbing her by the arm and pulling Tonks towards the library's closest exit. "An attack is coming."

Probably. I could be wrong. Avalon reflected darkness of all kinds, but the only other time that Bill had seen the sky like that was during Voldemort's previous attack. Somehow, he couldn't imagine this being anything else.

"Oh, shit."

"Pretty much." Bill broke into a jog, yanking his wand out of his robes to set off the alarms as they went. Immediately, a high gonging noise filled the island, and Aurors everywhere hurried to their places.

The first attack had come as a surprise, but the Aurors had vowed never to let that happen again. Bill had laughingly called their preparations "battle stations," knowing that only his father and the Muggleborns on the island would appreciate the reference, but the nickname was appropriate enough. Everyone had their place, and all knew how to fight the battle that needed to be fought. Voldemort would not corner them again, would not put the responsibility for defending them upon one extraordinary man. Sirius already had enough to bear.

"The new French students!" Tonks suddenly shouted at his side, making Bill skid to a stop.

"Oh, sh--" he cut himself off hurriedly. "Let's go."

The brand new Auror trainees (bound for Candidate Class 4905 as part of the Laçenne Agreement) had just arrived that morning, and they had no idea what to do or where to go. Most of them hadn't even gone beyond basic defensive training, and they'd be far more of a liability than anything else in a fight. Not for the first time, Bill was grateful for his quick-thinking protégé. Tonks was everything a Mentor could want and then some, so long as one managed to overlook her clumsiness and her insane curiosity.

"Damn!"

She tumbled to the floor, having tripped over something (likely her own left foot), swearing all the while. Wordlessly, Bill skidded to a stop and dragged her to her feet.

"Thanks," Tonks muttered, red-faced, and then took off before he could answer, pounding for the students' quarters.

Bill's warning gong still hung in the air, giving everyone goose bumps and bringing the island to life. He could hear Alice Longbottom's voice yelling orders, and Frank's booming one drowning hers out from time to time, but Tonks angled away from the voices, and Bill followed. Those students were the weak point. If they tried to run, they'd only end up hurting themselves...and their mistakes might give the Death Eaters an opening.

James sat back, finally able to look at his desk with something approaching satisfaction. The giant stack of paperwork was gone: filed away, dealt with, or just handed off to someone who had a better idea what to do with it. The important part, however, was that it was gone, dealt with, done. He'd been saddled by such a backlog that James had never thought he'd get ahead, but for the first time in months, he could sigh with satisfaction.

"About ti--" he started to whisper, just as his robes--thrown haphazardly over the back of a chair near the door--started to dance. "Huh?"

Confused, James rolled in their direction, bumping his chair into the corner of the desk in the process. He swore. "Ow!"

Finally, though, he reached the robes, and hauled the squirming mess of cloth into his lap. He started digging through it, frowning and wondering what in the world could be going on, when James suddenly became aware of the ticking noise that filled his office. Ticking. Ticking! Frantically, James' hands dove into his left breast pocket, and came free holding the gold pocket watch.

In the letter Dumbledore had sent with this watch, so many months ago, that he had only seen the watch read "Chance" on two occasions. James had seen it do so on a third, during the Diagon Alley attack, but now--now it read Danger, which he had never seen before, even in the worst of times. The world did not yet hang in the balance, but something was terribly wrong. Cold chills ran down his spine. There was trouble somewhere, and he didn't know where.

A quick motion of his wand sent Floo powder flying into his fireplace even as James' chair shot over to sit in front of the ornate marble and brick structure. "Molly Weasley!" he cried, frantically hoping that she was home.

"Yes?" the answer came almost immediately, but James did not have time to sigh with relief.

"Project Guardian!" he snapped. "Tell me what's happened!"

To her credit, Molly did not bother asking how he knew, or even what he was talking about. She didn't even bother to answer; her head immediately left his fire and he saw shadows moving beyond the Floo in the Burrow. Seconds later, she was back.

"There's nothing here," Molly replied with relief in her voice. She wasn't looking at James; her eyes were probably still focused on the giant map of London. "Nothing at all. Even the Ministry looks qui--"

"That's impossible," James replied breathlessly, clutching the watch in his left hand. His knuckles had long since turned white. "I know something's happening, something desperate--it's got to be somewhere that shows on Project Guardian. There's danger, Molly!"

She threw him a puzzled look, then horror dawned on her face. "Sirius? Could it be Sirius?"

"No. No." Without thinking, James threw another handful of Floo powder into the fire, and watched Molly hurriedly duck out of the way. "Sirius Black!"

Horrible seconds crept by as the watch ticked on, seemingly growing louder and faster with every passing moment. He was surprised that Lily hadn't already stuck her head in to ask what was the matter, but there was hardly time. If something had happened to Sirius... Suddenly, a black haired and blue eyed face appeared in the fire, his expression mildly curious, but perfectly healthy.

"Yes?"

James almost fainted in relief. He croaked, "You're okay."

"What happened?" Sirius snapped, his eyes suddenly narrow.

"I don't know--Dumbledore's watch suddenly went crazy, signaling danger, and it's got to be somewhere," James answered breathlessly, feeling fifteen again and frightened. "But it's not London--"

"I'll be right there," Sirius cut him off, and his head snapped out of the fire.

"I've got to go, Julia."

She smiled sadly. "I understand."

On impulse, Sirius leaned forward and kissed her--they were in a private room at the Leaky Cauldron, incognito and far from prying eyes. He'd waited far too long to see her again, to thank her for everything. Julia, also, deserved an explanation; he'd walked out on her as much as he'd walked out on everyone else, and even when he was trying to pretend he wasn't human, Sirius loved her. He'd loved her madly since seventh year, and if time, distance, and being on opposite sides of a war could not change that, no amount of idiocy on his part was going to chase her away. Or so she'd claimed, anyway, and Sirius believed her.

Being around Julia was also the final straw. Looking in her eyes had finally made him understand the truth that Peter, James, and Remus had slowly wormed into his mind. It was his heart that made him different from Voldemort, his ability to love and his willingness to sacrifice his own happiness for others'. And Julia had been able to offer even what his friends could not: a future. Seeing her made Sirius dream again, and Alice's words from earlier that day rang true. There would be an end, somewhere over the horizon.

But the horizon no longer seemed so far away, not with Julia beside him. So they had talked and joked, whispering sometimes and laughing others, wondering where they might be in two years. It was a pleasant fiction, really, borne of a renewed ability to hope and to dream. Still, for a few hours they had been lost in that dream and in each other, and Sirius felt strangely at peace. He had needed those hours far more than he would have admitted yesterday.

"I love you," Julia whispered, making him smile.

"And I you," Sirius replied, lingering for just one moment. There were times when he desperately wished that the damn world would just wait. Just for a few minutes.

"I won't ask you to be safe, but I will ask you to come back," she continued softly.

Unnatural clouds had started gathering in the sky that morning. Most of the students thought that they were in for a monster of a storm, but Remus knew differently. The time had come, and the storm was the work of the Font, reflecting him. Remus had known it would not rain, but the wind would blow, and that thunder would roll. Lightning already split the sky, because he knew.

Time to face the darkness, Moony, he told himself. Are you ready? Of course he wasn't. Humanity never was. Let it be the wolf, then. For once, the other half of his soul was a comforting presence. The wolf understood waiting in ways the human never would.

He drew in a deep breath and let it out, standing in front of the open window. Papers flew all over his office, and the curtains danced as the wind whipped them from side to side. He shivered slightly, more from the wind's cold bite than anything else, surprisingly unafraid. All the preparations had been made. The orders had been given. The students were locked inside the Great Hall, watched over by almost all of the Professors--the teachers who wanted to fight were already at their posts, and they were as ready as Remus could make them. Everyone knew what to do in case the defenses failed.

They were still probing, those small figures that dotted the landscape outside the locked gates. They were testing Hogwarts, testing him, and waiting for their master to arrive. He would come this time, Remus knew, because this was the final attack. Voldemort had destroyed all of the Wizarding World's other icons already; Hogwarts was all that had stood as a constant symbol against him and for the light.

I only wish it could always be that way, Remus thought heavily. But all things, even the best things, must end. He swallowed back his one regret, his own sorrow. What was it that Sirius had said? Let the darkness come.

"He's here," a quiet voice said from behind him.

"So soon?" Remus whispered, caught off guard. He hadn't heard Severus come through the unlocked doors.

"Yes."

"Well, then. I suppose it is better to get it all over with." Remus forced himself to smile.

"Don't say that," Severus managed. The headmaster did not need to glance over his shoulder to see that Snape was tight-lipped, white-faced. He loved this place, too, Severus Snape, in his own hard way.

Yet his love for Hogwarts ran far deeper than Remus' had, or at least before the headmaster had encountered the Font. In many ways, the school had meant a new beginning for both of them, a place to call home and love without reservation. Hogwarts, in the person of Albus Dumbledore, had given both men chances that they would never have received otherwise, but both loved the school for more than what Dumbledore had done for them. There was just something about Hogwarts, something you almost had to teach there to understand. Snape, however, had understood from the beginning, even if he never spoke the words.

"What else is there to say?" Remus whispered. "We both know what's coming. There will be no victory this day." He swallowed, and had to shrug apologetically. "Not for Hogwarts."

"No. Not for Hogwarts."

The unspoken words: And we both do know what is coming, but let us pretend a little while longer. Thunder cracked loudly, seeming to shake the room.

A moment later, lightning lit the sky so brightly that it seemed almost to be a cloudless day once more, as bright and as beautiful as the morning had started. It was barely five in the afternoon, now, but the sky had been dark without that flash, and Remus could see that the Death Eaters were no longer moving. They were clustered around one slim figure that he did not need a wolf's senses to recognize.

"There he is," Remus whispered.

Snape stepped up next to him without a word, following his gaze. Together, they watched Voldemort instruct the Death Eaters, and Remus wondered if the Mark was burning on Snape's arm now. Certainly, his Lord was commanding him, was demanding obedience and action. Neither, however, spoke of that. Such things did not need to be said.

The werewolf and the pureblood stood side by side for a long moment, silently looking upon the landscape of the school they had sworn to protect. Remus felt like he was looking at Hogwarts through new eyes, or else through old ones--with eyes that were seeing the beautiful castle and grounds for the last time. He could feel the Font stirring within him, could feel it rising and raging as his defenses were battered and beaten at. But the efforts were useless, and even Voldemort was beginning to sense that; Remus could see his frustration in his movements. He was pacing back and forth, probably hissing angrily at his followers as they failed again and again.

Wind was whipping at the Death Eaters mercilessly, driving them away from the castle. The defenses would not break, would not even crack. They were the same wards that had defeated Voldemort almost a decade before, though they were crafted a bit differently and with greater understanding. Remus Lupin would never be the type of wizard that Albus Dumbledore had been, but he had a closer bond to the Font of Power. He didn't quite understand why. Remus only knew it was true.

Just as he knew that the defenses would not break until he fell. Voldemort, too, seemed to understand that, and he was growing increasingly angry as the moments passed. They'd been prying at the wards for almost an hour, now, with no effect. How can such a long time feel like but a moment? Soon, the Dark Lord would have to change tactics.

He took a deep breath, and stretched his senses outwards. Remus barely noticed Severus shifting at his side, nervous and pale. One glance at the other man was almost enough to break Remus' concentration; turmoil filled the dark eyes.

"I'm going to have to betray you," Snape said softly.

"I know."

Remus felt surprisingly calm, even as Severus stepped back. Lightning filled the sky, and the wolf sensed danger.

He might have turned in time, but there was little reason to try.

Light reflected off of the blade a split second before the silver knife slid deep between his ribs and into flesh between them, barely missing his spine. Unable to help himself, Remus screamed in pain, a low human howl that shook the castle to its foundations.

And the defenses shattered.