Promises Defended

Promises Defended

Chapter Twelve: Love and Friendship

"Look out!" Ginny screeched three seconds before the shadows swept down upon them.

George was still in the lead, still bleeding from where a tree had all but fallen on him earlier (why it had fallen, they hadn't bothered to check. There hadn't been time). At any rate, the Dementor came flying out of nowhere to embrace George and pull him close.

"George!" Fred leapt forward immediately, almost into the arms of another Dementor. Hermione and Ron dragged him back as George shivered and wilted, and Harry stood frozen.

The Dementor seemed to be luxuriating in George's sudden inability to fight, and the other was watching Fred in particular, drifting back and forth as if savoring the anticipation. Ron and Hermione struggled to hold Fred back as he fought mindlessly to reach his twin. Ginny jumped into the fray, adding her weight to theirs as tears streaked down her face. Yet Harry could not move.

"George!" Fred howled.

"Fred, don't!" Hermione shrieked.

"Hold him!" Ron snarled.

Ginny grunted as Fred's elbow landed in her nose. "Don't let him--"

"George!"

The Invisibility Cloak fell lifelessly from Harry's clammy hands; not until something clinked to the ground next to it did he realize that he'd dropped Gryffindor's sword as well. Until that moment, Harry didn't even remember carrying Gryffindor's sword, but there it was, lying half on top of a root and shining in the faint forest light. The ruby-encrusted hilt glimmered up at him like a pair of kind red eyes, flashing in and out of focus with every beat of his heart. Heart.

"Use the sword well, Harry. Always remember that it was a gift of love and friendship. When all else fails except those two feelings, recall that fact: the Sword of Gryffindor will best serve those who are pure of motive and strong in heart..."

Dumbledore's letter. The rest of Dumbledore's words to him had talked about Godric Gryffindor's sword. Harry had barely read the words at the time; he'd been too busy staring at the beautifully worked blade and wondering why he, of all people, had the right to carry Godric Gryffindor's sword.

"...it was a gift from Helga Hufflepuff, who loved your ancestor like a brother."

George had started struggling against the Dementor. It wasn't holding him so tightly now; like the second, it was staring at the twins with curiosity. Had they never encountered identical twins before? Did they feel something different about them?

"No..." Fred moaned the word. Hermione was crying, too. Ron was gulping and trying hard not to.

"...it was a gift of love and friendship."

Love and friendship.

Everything Dementors were not.

"When all else fails except those two feelings..."

Harry dove for the sword, forgetting his wand, forgetting whatever spell it was that he'd seen his father use against Dementors. There was another way.

"George!" Fred half-screamed, half-sobbed.

One of the Dementors was pulling George close again, cradling him in its arms lovingly.

Love and friendship.

Sword in hand, Harry launched himself at the Dementor holding George. He ignored the other one for the moment, even though he could hear its rattling breaths drawing closer. Still...they sounded different somehow. Harry didn't think it was possible to surprise a Dementor, but he thought that he'd just surprised this one. Distantly, he heard Ron shout his name, but there wasn't time. He only had one shot at this.

Sunlight glinted off the blade as he stabbed forward--Harry didn't dare swing the sword, even though he could have aimed better that way. If he swung, he might hit George, and then they'd both die.

What if this doesn't work?

It was too late to wonder about that. The sword stabbed into where the bottom of the Dementor's ribcage would have been, if the Dementor had been a man. But it wasn't.

Somehow, Harry had expected there to be something there. He'd expected meat. Contact. Flesh, blood, bone, and goo. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. It was like stabbing into air, and the force he'd put into the blow threw him off balance. Harry careened into George before he could catch himself, knocking the other free of the Dementor's rotting hands--what hands? They were gone.

Freezing chill on his neck. So cold... "Harry, look out!" Ginny screamed.

He forced himself to turn. Forced the sword up--concentrating on the sword made it easier, somehow. The other Dementor was right in front of him, and George was on the ground behind him. Fred was rushing forward, Ron was shouting, Hermione was trying to hold Ginny and Ron both back, and Harry had never felt so cold. He thought frost was forming on his glasses, clouding them over so he could not see.

The Dementor reached for him. Gray, slimy hands reached for Harry's face, and he couldn't make himself move. He could only stand there and stare as the Dementor leaned forward for the first and last Kiss he'd ever receive.

But the sword was there, and the Dementor did not understand. Could not see it. Could not know. Almost on its own, Godric Gryffindor's sword slid into this Dementor's midsection, silent and smooth. The silvery blade emerged out of the tattered cloak's other side as the ruby in the hilt gleamed. Harry must have blinked, because when his vision cleared, an empty cloak hung off of the blade.

"Harry? Harry!" Hermione's was the first voice to make sense, and he looked up at her blankly. George was clambering to his feet with Fred's help, shaking madly. There was an empty cloak on either side of Harry.

"That was unbelievable," Ron breathed. "What did you do?"

"I didn't...didn't do anything," Harry stuttered. "It was the sword. Love and friendship."

"What?" Ginny echoed.

"It was a gift of love and friendship. When all else fails, love and friendship will..." Harry trailed off and shrugged helplessly. "I'm not doing very well, am I?"

"Not really," Hermione replied helpfully, her tears slowing behind a smile.

"You can explain later, mate," Ron assured him, glancing back. "Right now, I think we'd better go."

"Yeah..."

George coughed but managed to step away from his twin's support. "Thanks, Harry."

He managed a wan smile, suddenly drained. "No problem."

"Let's wake him, shall we?" he asked amicably, curiously. It was time indeed--time for answers. He leveled his wand at the prone form, smiling in anticipation. He'd killed werewolves before, but never one like this.

"Crucio!"

Lupin woke as his body arched off the floor, screaming almost immediately. His body was still pale and swollen from the poison, and blood seeped out from underneath his back where Severus had stabbed him. Voldemort held the curse as the Death Eaters laughed, not quite reveling in their approval, but enjoying it nonetheless.

Lupin screamed wonderfully.

"No."

Sirius shook himself, staggering away from the tree he'd somehow come to lean on. This wasn't the first time, but never had it been so clear. Never had it been so now--he'd been seeing through Voldemort's eyes, looking straight into the dark mass of whatever that the monster called a soul. Sirius shivered, then rubbed his arms vigorously, trying to warm up.

And they call me cold. I'm nothing compared to that. I still care about my friends.

The thought made him swallow, and what he had just seen finally sank in. Remus! Remus was alive, but poisoned by Snape. The bastard. One of these days, he'd twitch just wrong and Sirius would--he forced himself to stop thinking about that. Childhood hatred had no place in this war, and Snape was on their side. Whatever he'd done, he'd done for a reason.

And now Voldemort was torturing Remus. Remus. Remus, the pale and lonely little boy who they'd met on the Hogwarts Express, quieter than even Peter, who'd been so frightened that he'd babbled half the trip away. Remus, who'd never thought he'd make friends or be normal at all. Remus, who had tried to pretend he wasn't crying when they became Animagi for him. Not Moony. Anyone but Moony. Sirius swallowed hard, then discovered that he could still cry.

He was that human, at least. But he wasn't human enough to help his friend. This day he had to be as inhuman as the darkness inside him could allow; he had to ignore and go on. There were others who needed saving, children who Remus had been willing to sacrifice his life to protect. And I will not dishonor everything he fights for by forgetting what he loves.

Squaring his shoulders, Sirius started walking again. I'm coming for you, Remus, he promised silently. I've just got to save your students first.

It was dark now, and they were moving again, listening to crashes at their backs--what was that?--and picking each other up when they fell. The other students had to be having as many problems; Hermione could hear their distraught voices up ahead, and could hear Professor Tonks every now and then, encouraging them to keep going. It wasn't much further, now.

Professor Tonks must not have been much of a prankster during his years at Hogwarts, though, because they weren't even halfway through the gigantic forest. In fact, they were closer to a quarter of the way through than half, and there were still within earshot of the castle, if one shouted loud enough.

Or screamed loud enough, just like the Headmaster was doing.

Hermione swallowed hard. It had to be the Headmaster, who was always so quiet and so kind. He was the best thing about Hogwarts, so wise and so strong. And now the Death Eaters were torturing him, just like they'd tortured her parents. Tears rose, but she pushed them back. She wouldn't cry again. Emotion had caught her by surprise with George, but she was in control now. It wouldn't win again. The screams were growing louder. What are they doing to him? Hermione had to swallow hard.

Harry was in the lead now, with the Sword of Gryffindor in one hand and his Invisibility Cloak slung over one shoulder. It made him look strange, but that was all right. The Misfits were used to that. But Harry was slowing, and it wasn't an illusion made by the cloak. After a few more steps, he stopped. The others followed suit, breathing hard.

Hermione was just glad to see that she wasn't the only one gasping for air.

Slowly, Harry turned to look at them, swallowing and grim faced. Hermione wondered if he knew about the blood seeping from his right temple, but she didn't think so. His words were measured and calm.

"I'm going back."

George's eyes flew wide open. "You're what?" he demanded.

But Hermione understood, even though the thought made her feel cold. They could still hear the screaming just as well as before, even though they were further away now. No one was doing anything except running. No one was doing anything, and someone had to. She nodded as firmly as she could manage.

"And we're going with him."

"Eugène, please try to understand," Peter pleaded, already exhausted and not at all grateful for the time difference between Britain and France; he'd been feeling tired enough before he had to travel to Paris, where it was almost midnight--and it would be well after midnight by the time he got home again. Peter fully expected that he wouldn't leave France until tomorrow. He took a deep breath.

"This is a political decision. A foolish decision, yes, but it's nothing but politics." A decision you had to find out via French Aurors because our Ministry was too chicken to tell you. Myself included. "Fudge is making his move. That's all."

"But will it work?" Eugène demanded.

Peter snorted. "No. Not in this lifetime."

"And what about those children while we play politics, eh?" the French president demanded. "What about them?"

"We've already sent people to find them and bring them to safety," Peter answered, not quite lying. Sirius had sent people, and James was busy pretending that he didn't know. It wasn't precisely illegal...but it wasn't exactly right, either. Then again, none of this is.

"Oh?" Eugène retorted. "And how successful will they be?"

"Monsieur Prèsident, please. You know me. I would not lie to you--not on something like this. We'll get them out."

"I hope so, Peter...because if not..." Legarde shook his head. "I would find it very hard to remain allied with a nation that leaves its children to die. It's one thing to talk of high ideals and battling evil, but this--this is more evil than almost anything I have seen in my life."

"We will not leave them," Peter swore. "You have my word on it."

Legarde finally smiled. "That, at least, I know I can trust."

He awoke again to a haze of muted pain, heard a word and then started screaming again. Remus had known this was coming--had expected the worst, even--but he could not help screaming. A distant, still logical, part of his brain wondered if any human being could.

Odd that he could think rationally with his nerves exploding with pain. Remus had once made an extensive study of the Cruciatus Curse (during his Hogwarts years illicit knowledge had always been the most interesting), and knew that it acted on nerve endings, using the body's sensitive pain receptors against themselves. He'd even been struck by the curse before; it was hard not to, in battle. But nothing like this.

His body was on fire. His mind wanted to shut down and just scream his throat bloody and raw, but something wouldn't let him.

A voice he knew, rasping and pained.

"The dark end approaches..." Hacking coughs, words he could not make out. Pain. His body jerked off of the floor and came down hard; Remus felt blood splash down his chin when he coughed. "For the choice has been his, and strength does not come from power alone..."

His own voice.

"You must leave this place."

Pain on Severus' face.

Distant words, filled with disgust. "He's stopped screaming."

"...Because you want me to become what you are." Sirius' face was unnaturally calm. The sky, shining through the window behind him, was bright blue.

Laughter. "Is widdle Wemus dying?"

Bellatrix, that. Impossible to mistake.

Pain on James' face. "He's gone."

"But he--" Peter cut off, near tears.

"No. He's not." Severus, sounding so cold. Good on him.

"Oh, really? Is this some potion you gave him, dear Severus?"

"Hello, Tom."

Red eyes widened.

He was twitching horribly. Remus felt like tiny balls of fire were bubbling up under his skin, rolling on his bones.

"Not I."

Remus wanted to scream. Some irrational part of him was certain that would lessen the pain, would give a release, any release. A greater strength, however, stopped him. In some ways, he was distant from the pain. He felt it, but... But he was not without control.

I could stand and walk out of here if I wanted to, Remus realized with a start. Thankfully, the twitching concealed that nicely.

"...call it the Marauder's Revenge."

"You're crazy, Sirius."

"Well then what is it, then?" another voice demanded, and Remus almost laughed. They can't know, can they? They don't have any idea! "He's just lying there!"

"Enough, Rodolphus." Smooth and controlled, like the cruel spell he had cast. "Severus is right."

"Are you mad? Take the offer while you still can!"

Tight faced and pale, James shook his head. "No."

"This is our only chance!" Fudge screeched. "How many more have to die before--"

Someone else cast the spell. Rodolphus...Rodolphus what? Oh, yes. Rodolphus Lestrange. Remus remembered him. Too well. "Crucio!"

"No change," Lucius Malfoy commented idly. Someone giggled nervously.

Draco?

"This is it, then. And Merlin save us if they fail."

Heartbeat.

"No. I did not expect it to."

I'm coming for you, Remus. I've just got to save your students first.

What?

"Cease."

And the curses disappeared, leaving Remus breathing hard on the floor. But he wasn't gasping for air--he'd half-expected to--and the moment he opened his eyes, his vision cleared. Still, his limbs were made of lead and everything hurt. For all his conviction that he could move if he wanted to, Remus had no desire to. Even the wolf knew when to back down.

A shadow fell over his eyes.

"Remus John Lupin," the quiet voice said, speaking each word as if it were a sentence of its own. "Werewolf. Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." There was a cold smile beneath the intrigued red eyes. "I do not believe I have had the pleasure."

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Remus replied in the same tone, if a bit hoarsely. "I know who you are."

"Charmed, I am sure," Voldemort replied. He was in high humor today, but then again, he had won. No one, even Remus, had been able to stop him.

I always knew I'd lose. I just never knew how, or that it would hurt so much.

"You won't get what you want." Best to get that out now, right away.

The Dark Lord laughed silently as Death Eaters chortled. "And what is that? What are you so certain I want from you?"

"Answers," Remus said simply, and watched recognition flash in the red eyes, even though the face's expression did not change.

"And what answers would the world's most powerful wizard want from you, beast?" Bellatrix demanded.

"Contain yourself, Bella." A hard edge entered the previously amused voice. Then the shadow shifted suddenly, and Voldemort knelt on Remus' left side, even with his shoulder. A long moment passed in silence; the headmaster just watched.

"You and I both know that I will get what I want from you," the Dark Lord said softly. "You are not Sirius Black."

Remus smiled, tasting blood. His split lip stung. "I don't have to be."

"Bloody--" Ron fell face first into the mud puddle.

For the first time that evening, someone smiled, and Ginny hauled Ron to his feet with dimples showing in her cheeks. "I thought Mum taught you to clean up after yourself, Ronald."

"Ickle Ronnekins," Fred corrected. The response sounded automatic, but at least it was normal. So was Ron's grousing.

"No, she left that to the girl," he shot back, and Ginny giggled. It was a tiny giggle, but still, a laugh was a laugh.

"You are a mess," Hermione commented dismissively, then gestured everyone forward. "Let's keep going. We're getting closer."

But the screams had stopped, and Harry had to swallow. "Yeah," he said quietly. "We are."

Something is wrong. The realization hit him suddenly, and a chill ran down Harry's spine. He felt so off, so cold all of a sudden. It was as if he'd crossed some invisible temperature barrier between Britain and Antarctica--and then Harry thought of Dementors. He spun around.

"Ginny, do you see any--" She whipped the glasses out before he could finish the sentence.

"Someone's coming!"

"Quick, everyone, hide!" Hermione hissed, and the Misfits dove for cover. Caught flat-footed, Harry looked around wildly for a moment, searching for someplace to go, but every good spot was taken. Finally, he ducked behind a tree, hoping that he was hiding from the right direction.

"Harry?" a voice suddenly called.

His heart stopped. This has got to be a trick. Gryffindor's sword felt sticky against his suddenly dry palms, and Harry fought the urge to wipe the hilt clean. He couldn't let go, couldn't risk some sort of trick. I bet it's Death Eaters. Or Malfoy. Malfoy would try to sound like him.

"Harry?"

"Psst!" Hermione hissed so softly that he could barely hear her. She was hunkered down underneath a large bush, and Harry had to squint to make her out in the darkness. "Is that--?"

"Shh!" Ron cut her off. "D'you want to die?"

"Shut up, Ron!" Ginny and George snapped together, but by then it was too late. The footsteps were growing far closer.

"Harry?" the voice called again, sounding more urgent. "Hermione?"

Even Malfoy wouldn't dare. Harry tried to peek around the edge of the tree, but it was too dark and the approaching individual was dressed in black. Would he?

Too tall.

Taking a deep breath, Harry slid his left hand inside his robes and finally pulled his wand loose; the Invisibility Cloak would just have to puddle on the ground for now; he only had two hands and there wasn't time to put it on. Wand in his left hand and sword in his right, Harry inched his head free of the tree.

"Sirius?"

"Harry!" The footsteps sped up; something cracked under a hard-soled boot. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Coming out of his crouch, Harry ducked out from behind the tree. His knees were weak with relief, but his face suddenly felt flushed. "Well, we were..."

"Running away," Ginny supplied quickly, coming out from underneath a rock. "We were running from the Dementors and we lost our way."

"Right." Sirius snorted. "And I'm Celestina Warbeck." He glanced over his shoulder once, his eyes narrowing. When he turned back to face them, his eyes were frighteningly cold. "You were going back, weren't you?"

There was an awkward silence as the Misfits all emerged from their hiding places, glancing at one another for reassurance. No, lying to this wizard would be pointless.

"Well, someone has to," Ron finally snapped, crossing his arms and waiting for Sirius to contradict him. Harry swallowed, but couldn't disagree. After all, it wasn't like he'd seen Aurors rushing to Hogwarts' aid.

"You're right." Sirius' expression did not change, but Harry saw his eyes flicker in the direction of Hogwarts. "Someone does. But that's not you."

"Are you going?" Harry demanded.

"No. Not yet."

"What?" Six voices shouted, Harry's included. He felt like his eyes were going to jump out of his head.

"Not yet," Sirius repeated dispassionately. "First, I'm getting you out of here."

"We can handle ourselves just fine!"

"Against Voldemort?" Sirius' voice was suddenly hard.

"Harry killed two Dementors," Hermione objected in a small voice. Harry glanced at her, surprised that she'd be the one to argue. Yet there was a fire in her eyes, pain that needed to be acted upon to be eased.

Sirius twisted around to face Harry. "You did?"

"It was the sword," Harry explained, holding the weapon up with a shrug. "I didn't do much."

Sirius blinked.

Far in the distance, someone else screamed. Someone new--instinctively, Harry knew that it wasn't Remus. Professor Shacklebolt? The screams sounded male.

And then another set started, distinctively female.

Sirius blinked again, wincing slightly, though his expression smoothed out almost too quickly for the Misfits to notice. His voice sounded hoarse. "Let's go."

"But--" One last try from, again, Hermione.

"You can't do anything," Sirius said quietly. "Neither can--"

Remus screamed, suddenly and just once, cutting him off.

"Neither can you," Harry snapped before he could stop himself. "Is that what you were going to say?"

"Harry..." Warning tone.

"No! If we don't do something, who will? There's at least three people there, and Remus is going to die if--"

"Harry!"

He should have stopped, but emotion overrode everything else. Harry shrieked over Sirius' shout. "We can't leave him there!"

"D'you think, Harry, that your father, Peter, or I would leave Remus in Voldemort's hands for one moment longer than necessary?" His godfather retorted, his face closing off. "But we can't save him right now. We just can't."

Had there not been such pain in Sirius' voice, Harry might have gone on. But staring into the Auror's troubled blue eyes, he saw the same urgency he felt...and Sirius barely had it under control. Harry let out the breath he'd been holding, and closed his mouth, trying not to sigh. It's not fair. One look at the others showed that they felt the same.

In the silence that followed, Sirius reached out to grab Harry's shoulder. His touch wasn't exactly gentle, but it was comforting all the same, and Harry allowed himself to be led away.

One more scream, and then stillness.