Promises Defended

Promises Defended

Chapter Thirteen: Out of Control

"Remember me, animal? Remember my brother?"

The words sounded distant through his haze, but as Remus regained consciousness, he realized that Rodolphus Lestrange was still rambling. Had the imbecile even noticed when Remus passed out? Probably not. He wasn't exactly the observant type. Remus was still chained to the cold and slightly moldy wall of a Hogwarts cell, shivering helplessly when Dementors drifted through the open door.

There were impossibly many of the creatures, and Remus began to realize how Sirius had felt in Azkaban. Azkaban... Would he end up there, or would it end at Hogwarts?

Neither. Shove the hopeless thoughts aside; he was not here to give up. His body ached with pain, but the Font was still there. Thankfully, Severus had (disdainfully) administered a healing tonic designed to leech most of the silver out of his system, which he'd desperately needed. Remus felt somewhat better than before, aside from the nausea and dizziness that made him see two or three of Voldemort's expert torturer--but at least he could concentrate now. That was something.

"Well?" Lestrange snarled. "Have no answer, werewolf? Are you proud of having slain one of your betters, a pureblood son of a family than can trace its lineage back to Ptolemy and Circe?" Another blow fell; a rib snapped. "Half-blooded freak."

The little boy Remus Lupin that had come to Hogwarts would have cried. The man replied through split lips: "We all do what we can."

It was a supremely Dumbledore-esque comment, but served the intended purpose. Lestrange went red with anger, and his wand came up again. Remus looked calmly into his eyes and braced himself for pain. I'm still winning.

Sirius and the Misfits caught up with the other students just inside the far edge of the forest. They'd been somewhat surprised to find Ted Tonks already organizing the stragglers and taking roll, but the new Head of Gryffindor had been glad to hand control over to Sirius. Professor Sprout supported a wounded Sinistra while Madam Pomfrey and a limping Madam Hooch herded the children together, healing the worst injuries and leaving the less serious. There wasn't time, and no one objected. Most of the students were just quiet as events sunk in.

So far, the death count was at least nine, and those were just bodies that people had seen. Almost eighty students were missing, and Sirius had no illusions. Of those, most were Slytherins. The others were probably dead.

They'd been clumped together for almost twenty minutes, with teachers forming a perimeter that no student was allowed to cross. They'd hoped against hope that more stragglers might show or that one of the three missing professors might suddenly lead more students out of the trees. But Sirius and the Misfits had been the last group by far; Ted and the others had been at the edge of the Forbidden Forest for almost an hour. No one else was coming, despite the whispered entreaties from friends and siblings. A few drifted in the direction of Hogwarts, staring wistfully into the distance...but none went further. Even the Misfits were silent. Percy was among the missing.

"The moon is bright tonight, but not yet full," a voice suddenly said. Someone screamed, and Ted Tonks swore.

Two centaurs emerged from the trees; students instinctively shuffled backwards. Sirius, on the other hand, took a hesitant step forward. He hadn't seen a centaur since his fourteenth year, but their dangerous allure remained. Besides, it's not like anyone else is stupid enough to talk to them.

"Mars is also bright," Sinistra hobbled forward unexpectedly, reaching Sirius' side. She squinted, having lost her glasses somewhere, then continued directly. "You know about the battle?"

"We do," the older one replied gloomily. Ronan? "Yet you should not be here, Professor. We cannot protect your younglings."

"No one asks you to," Sinistra replies. "We will be leaving soon--"

"We have chased off the Dementors," the pale palomino centaur replied just as Sirius remembered that his name was Firenze. His uncanny eyes focused briefly on Sirius. "You have time."

Sinistra stared speechlessly, as did Sirius. Centaurs never aided humans--at least, not until something darker and far more evil invaded their home. It was a valuable lesson to learn; perhaps there was hope, and cooperation could be possible in a world where bigotry and hatred were kept in check. Such feelings would never be gone--Sirius, of all people, understood that--but perhaps people could learn after all.

"Thank you," Ted whispered.

A pair of regal nods was the only response before the centaurs galloped away.

Take the deep breath and let it out. That was supposed to calm you down, right? Deep breaths. Calm thoughts. Evil actions.

And the last was the worst. He'd made the wrong choice, had watched everything spiral out of control. Yet he'd thought it out so carefully, had known what had to be done. Hadn't he? A sick chill ran down Severus' spine. Obviously, he hadn't. Something had gone wrong.

Now Voldemort owned Hogwarts, which he had expected. Death Eater children laughed with their parents, feasting during every hour of the day and toasting the Dark Lord's victory. Dementors floated freely through Snape's dungeons, having their own feast on the screams and terror. Bellatrix danced among them, in her element and charged with interrogating three of Hogwarts' "finest": a werewolf, a crippled ex-Auror, and a scatter-brained fraud. Vector was already dead due to Bellatrix's sick ministrations; even old roommates were accorded no mercy. Of course, Bellatrix loved every moment, adored every curse and every blow. Severus had watched her lick the blood from her fingers more than once and no longer found himself able to be sickened by it.

Bodies still littered the courtyard; no one had bothered to clean them up. Severus would have to order the house elves to do so later in the day. He'd call the corpses unsanitary.

Nice to know that you're living a life of lies, isn't it? a nasty voice inside him wanted to know, and he swatted it aside. Wrong or right, this was not the time for grief.

Kingsley was screaming, now. Bella must have been aiming for him when she'd skipped down the stairs, a cruel looking whip in hand. As the Death Eaters had discovered more than once, magical torture methods carried with them a significant risk of causing insanity, but Bella had long ago figured out how to overcome that. After all, there was much to be said about traditional human torture devices, she'd often pointed out. Blood was so stimulating.

Severus scowled, and then turned it into a glare as he passed young Goyle. He was with Draco Malfoy, predictably, but Severus could hardly imitate death when looking the way of his "best friend's" son. However, he would have vastly preferred to take his anger out on Lucius' precious heir, who had gleefully cursed Professor Vector as she tried to lead the young Slytherins to safety. Cursed her in the back, no less. His first Unforgivable, cast at the age of twelve. That has to be a record.

I bet Lucius is proud.

At least Draco was down to one bodyguard these days, having lost Vincent Crabbe, Jr. in the most permanent way. Snape found it hard to mourn for his lost student; Crabbe's death had to be attributed to terminal stupidity. He'd wandered straight into the hungry arms of a Dementor that he'd been sure would not harm his father's son. Idiot. The almost-as-foolish father was crazed with grief, and Snape had sneered openly at him earlier that morning. Malfoy half-smiled at his professor, though, and Snape nodded distractedly. It was time.

He'd tried to put this duty off for as long as possible, but Rodolphus had exited the dungeons five minutes ago, and this was the only chance for privacy he had. Bella did not count--she was rather single-minded in general, and especially when torturing someone. She'd not notice Snape or think to wonder about his purpose. Officially, he was analyzing the effectiveness of his anti-silver tonic, but his actual mission was different. Doing so was risky, foolish, and even deadly, but Severus had to. He'd only sworn loyalty to two things in his life, and he'd betrayed the first over a decade ago. It was time to honor the second, even if doing so meant death.

Besides, he tried to reassure himself, those three would never let Remus die. They were too loyal, too foolish, too...caring. Remus deserved better than to languish and then die in one of Voldemort's pet hells, and they'd see to it that he did not. For a moment, he envied them, and then pushed the thought aside. Everyone, in the end, followed roads that were dictated by their nature. Perhaps his was to betray.

He passed Trelawney's cell on the way; she appeared to be blissfully unconscious for now. Even Voldemort knew she was an airhead and a fraud; he'd not be likely to waste time on one such as she.

Kingsley was still screaming.

Don't think of that now.

One step in front of the other. Black robes swished around his legs as he strode forward, letting purpose drive him and keep his face impassive. Stone. Or angry stone, anyway. He was good at that.

Two Dementors skittered out of his way as Severus approached, strangely compliant. They must have been satiated by the evening's work, which he'd have thought impossible--but neither had Severus ever imagined happy looking Dementors. Then again, he'd never really imagined Hogwarts in Voldemort's hands, either.

The door swung open without protest, and he'd almost hoped it was locked. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, smelling blood and vomit immediately. The silver had taken its toll long before Severus had dared suggest administering an antidote of sorts (there wasn't an antidote, really, but at least he'd kept the stab wound from causing a deadly infection), and poor Remus had already emptied the contents of his stomach by then.

Poor Remus? Had he really just thought that? Severus had to close his eyes. Yes, he had, and yes, it was true. Remus was a wreck.

Chained to the wall and bleeding from head to toe, Hogwarts' headmaster already looked as if he'd been tortured for weeks. His clothes were rags, his skin pale, and his hair a tangled mess that covered half of his bleeding face. Remus was breathing raggedly, but steadily; not for the first time, Severus admired his self control. He always had, even as children. It had been the only thing he'd liked about any of the self-styled "Marauders."

Concentrate, Severus! Distraction was far too easy when you didn't want to think about the present. "Remus?"

Blue eyes cracked open, oddly calm. Surprise flickered in them, but not much. After all, who else would it be?

"Severus..." A cough. "You shouldn't be here."

"Tell me something that I do not know," he replied dryly, reaching inside his robes. He held up a vial, put it to Remus' lips. "Here. Drink this."

Remus did without objection. "Thanks."

"Sanodoleo. It will dull the pain a bit."

"Thanks," Remus repeated. He wasn't fool enough to refuse because he wanted to seem courageous; Remus was far too smart for that. He knew that survival was more important than appearances could ever be.

"I cannot stay long...but I had to come." The words came far easier than he expected them to. Severus had always been a proud man. "I wanted to apologize. I had not expected it to be like this."

"I did," the headmaster whispered between cracked lips. "Somehow...I knew."

Somehow. Remus knew how, of course, but Severus didn't want to. Something had changed about him in the last year, something important. And that's it. That's what he wants, isn't it? Severus had told Voldemort about the change. And now Voldemort wanted to know.

Shit.

He'd really done it this time. "I don't quite know what to say," Severus admitted gruffly.

"Neither do I," Remus whispered. "But you should go."

A heavy weight landed on his heart. "Yes. I should."

When he strode from the cell, Snape's shoulders were back and his face was expressionless, save for the slight sneer that everyone assumed was pasted there. His emotions were firmly in check--his fellow Death Eaters would call them nonexistent--and his dark eyes were clear. No regrets. Just the future.

Midnight, and the only place they thought to go was Diagon Alley. After all, there was nothing that worked to calm children down like ice cream.

So Sirius had turned a large fallen tree into a rather illegal Portkey, and they'd headed off to Florean Fortescue's. The owners had been thankfully forgiving, and ice cream had been very forthcoming after a quick draft from Sirius' Gringotts' account.

Harry and the others sat in the front corner, with six chairs pulled up to a table meant for four. Seeing the heartbreak on their faces made Sirius swallow; he wanted to offer them reassurance but could not. Percy Weasley was missing, and though the Misfits had taunted him and chafed under his watchful eye, they'd cared about him. Sirius recognized the signs. He'd felt the same way himself during his third year, when Michelle Silverman had been murdered right in the middle of Hogsmeade. Michelle had been a fifth year Gryffindor prefect, half-blooded and very pretty. She'd also been smart, nice, and an all-around favorite of the entire school...until Voldemort struck. Everything had crystallized for the Marauders that day: Hogwarts had no longer been safe

Now the Misfits had the same experience, and Sirius wished he had words to make it better. But there weren't any, and he knew it. The only thing he could do was bring their parents to Fortescue's. He could send the children home to where it might or might not be any safer. Still...there were professors to handle that. His job was different.

They teach. I protect.

And that was the difference, wasn't it? Voldemort was out to destroy. Sirius was fighting to protect his friends, to protect his world. Yes, he was willing to kill. He'd certainly done so in the past. But he was different.

"What about Remus? And the others?"

Harry's question startled him, as did the big green eyes staring up at him. Sirius hadn't been conscious of drifting towards the Misfits' table, but there he was, only a few feet away.

"We'll save him," Sirius replied immediately. "I promise."

"Can you?" Hermione bit her lip.

Damn straight I can. "Yes," Sirius replied. "We have to."

"Professor Lupin is different, isn't he?" Surprisingly, it was little Ginny Weasley, whom Sirius barely knew at all. Yet she was a perceptive one, as strange as those glasses looked on her pale face.

"Not different, really, or not in the way you may think...but yes." Sirius had to choose his words carefully. Instinctively, he knew what lay at the heart of Hogwarts was what had brought Voldemort there. The Dark Lord knew the value of symbols...but he also knew that Hogwarts was, in the end, just a school. There was little strategic value there now that Dumbledore was gone.

No, he was after the Font, even if he didn't know it.

"I know," Ginny said quietly, and then fell silent. Her brothers shot her strange looks, but she just stared into the distance. Sirius knew exactly how she felt.

And then Molly Weasley and Lily Potter arrived, and he was swept back by them. Sirius didn't truly feel out of place--it was simply that his work lay elsewhere. The Mollys and the Lilys of the world healed people. The Remuses and the Dung Fletchers taught them. James led them. Sirius...Sirius just tried to save them.

"You wanted to see me, My Lord?"

Lucius was on his guard; late afternoon had arrived, and the euphoria was fading. The children were still ecstatic, but they did not understand. Not really. They were far too young, even those who had been raised for this life. Tread warily, Lucius, he told himself behind an impassive face. He's been wandering the grounds since breakfast. He's looking for something. Let it not be you.

"The mystery of Hogwarts..." the Dark Lord mused softly, his eyes staring into the distance. They stood on the front steps, now, and Lucius wisely stayed several feet away and silent. Most importantly silent. Voldemort was not pleasant when someone presumed to interrupt his thought processes.

"Albus Dumbledore was not an ordinary wizard. Do you agree?'

Surprised by the question, Lucius almost voiced the first thought to come to mind: Ordinary enough to die. Thankfully, he caught himself in time. "No, My Lord. He was not."

"Yet no one ever asked why." The tall figure turned to face him. "We always assumed that he was just Dumbledore."

Somehow, the soft tone of voice underlined the importance of the words, and Lucius felt his eyebrows rising.

"You do not think his powers were...natural, My Lord?" One had to be careful what one implied with that.

"No." The red eyes tore away from Lucius and looked down, studying the thousand-year-old stone steps. Voldemort was silent until his eyes had traveled up the castle's face and back to Lucius again. "They came from Hogwarts." Something brilliantly bright flashed in the usually cold eyes. "Lupin has them."

"Lupin?" The absurdity of the remark startled an honest response out of Lucius. A worthless, half-blooded monster inherited Dumbledore's powers? He wanted to snarl, and barely stopped himself in time. Bad enough that Dumbledore had been a Mudblood; he'd lived so long and done so much that one had almost been able to forgive that. But a half-blooded werewolf?

"Oh, yesss." The hiss in the voice almost had Lucius searching for a snake. "But Lupin...Lupin is everything Dumbledore was not."

He is not saying that Lupin is more powerful than Dumbledore was. Lucius stared. "My Lord?"

A slow smile greeted his shock. "He is no great mover of events, no influencer content to sit on the sidelines and wait. Lupin is a warrior. The wolf will not let him be less."

"I see." He didn't, but it did not do to ask.

"Yet Dumbledore gave him something." Voldemort's eyes flickered across the courtyard. "And it is here to be found." The cold look found Lucius again.

"We will find it, My Lord," he promised. As if he could say anything else.

"Do so."

No threats were necessary; Lucius had been a Death Eater for too long. He simply took his leave and searched out the two that might know the most: his son and Severus Snape. Let Bella and Rodolphus try to torture it out of Lupin. They won't succeed, and there are other ways.

Sirius was the last to arrive and was surprised to find a discussion already in progress. Usually, they had the good grace to wait.

"I cannot believe that you disobeyed our--" Fudge started, only to be cut off by a furious James.

"Disobeyed?" the Minister snapped back, his hazel eyes flashing dangerously. "First of all, I am the Minister of Magic, not you. Choosing to disregard your well-meant advice is not disobedience. Second of all, no Aurors attacked Hogwarts. The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement simply helped evacuate the students, something everyone here should have been willing to do."

"We had more pressing concerns," Fudge retorted.

"Like what?" Sirius asked quietly, feeling all eyes turn in his direction. They hadn't noticed him until now, and the looks he received ranged from appreciative but frazzled (James) to downright hostile (Fudge). Unfortunately, the majority fell somewhere near the latter category.

"Hem, hem." Dolores Umbridge cleared her through and glared pointedly. "No one asked you." Surprised by her audacity, Sirius stared at Fudge's understudy. What the hell was she doing there? Did James lack the power to kick her out?

"Yet I have every right to reply," he replied mildly, glad that his shock had given him a moment to think over the response. Anger wouldn't help here. The government was already fraying. Umbridge glared.

"Now, if we could return to the subject at hand..." Amos Diggory suggested with unusual spine.

"No." James' face was hard. "The subject is closed. Take your seats and come to order."

Finally!

Chairs scraped loudly on the wood floor; department heads obeyed reluctantly. Oddly enough, a slight smirk creased Fudge's face, and an alarm started screeching in Sirius' head.

"We will decide today what action we will take in regards to Hogwarts," James continued in that same frozen voice. "And nothing is not an option."

"Wait one moment!" Fudge shot to his feet; he loved to do that, to tower over James. "Hogwarts is no longer an immediate danger. The students and the teachers are safe. We can now examine options other than direct assault."

"Other options?" Arthur demanded. "What about the missing? What about Remus Lupin?"

"While it is regrettable that some people are not accounted for, the loss of Lupin is not a tragic--"

"What?" Peter cut him off before either James or Sirius could speak. "How can you say such a thing about a man wh--"

Arthur stopped suddenly, eyes wide, and no one picked up where he left off, either to argue or otherwise. The argument died as letters began tracing themselves out on the long oak table. One by one, in hunter green trimmed with silver against the dark surface:

T H E O F F E R R E M A I N S .

Sirius went still, feeling each breath continue on at the same steady pace. Interesting, he thought passively. Have I worried him that much?

"Well." Fudge was the first to recover, smiling benignly at James. "You did want action."

"Absolutely not," the Minister of Magic snapped before Sirius could open his mouth. His mind was racing ahead of the conversation, examining possibilities and measuring risks. Despite what Fudge was thinking, it might work. He could... James' voice was cold enough to freeze molten lava. "We will not fall into Voldemort's trap. Not this time. Not ever."

"Hem, hem," Umbridge spoke out of turn again. "I believe that this offer--"

"No one asked you," Arthur interrupted her nastily. This is bad.

"Enough!" James snapped. "The discussion is closed. We will return to the subject of freeing Hogwarts now. The Ministry is responsible for safe-guarding the school as per the Stump Act of 1877, which means that we will are obligated to act. I propose we utilize an Auror strike team, led by Sirius Black." Usually, James wasn't quite so blunt, but Sirius could see the stress eating at him.

"Of course you would," Nathaniel Adams retorted, turning to glare at Sirius. Sirius just stared back distantly, hardly paying attention to the discussion. If he went, if he broke James' heart and did so anyway...

There were possibilities at work, deadly ones, but definite possibilities. The real question was the most important, though. Could he? He would dare, of course, but could Sirius do this to his best friend?

James glared. "It's our best option."

Not good. His best friend's control was shattering, and Sirius keyed back into the conversation, alerted by the tone of James' voice. Instantly, he knew that he had to say something--but he had no idea what. James' hazel eyes were narrowing ominously, and the tense set of his shoulders told Sirius that he wanted to explode. Suddenly, Sirius had to swallow, and he knew what had to be done.

"I disagree," Fudge replied quietly. Civilly. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has indicated a willingness to request peace. I suggest that we avail ourselves of this chance instead of squandering it like the last one."

"In case you've forgotten--" Arthur started hotly.

"Hem, hem."

Fudge continued as soon as Umbridge cleared the path for him. "I believe that our best option is to play for time. We can string He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named out with negotiations until we are in a better bargaining position and then move forward from there."

Soft murmurs of agreement filled the room, humming like some gentle killer insect as it lulled unsuspecting victims into complacency.

"And what position do you hope to be in?" James demanded tightly. "If we fail to fight back, everything we stand for becomes a lie. Don't you see that?"

"I'm afraid that I must respectfully disagree."

"Oh, really?" James snapped. "And how will you placate Voldemort? You still fear his name!"

"A little fear is healthy," Abner Bode pointed out unevenly, speaking for the first time. James glared.

"And too much will cripple you," Sirius replied, letting his eyes travel from face to face, not liking what he saw.

"If we don't fight back, who are we?" James continued earnestly, pleadingly. "What message are we sending, that we give up after more than twenty years of war? How would the dead see us if we give up?"

"Is not ending the war now a better way to honor them?" Fudge countered. "I would think that--"

"By sacrificing another life?" the Minister retorted. "By betraying someone who has given everything in our cause?"

"What is one life in comparison with the world, James?" the other replied urgently, his voice rising in pitch. "Can't you see it? Even your friend does!" He gestured at Sirius, who'd hardly expected to be noticed. A critical moment flashed pass before he found his voice.

"I--"

"No," James cut him off. "We have no right to ask that of anyone. Ever."

"You can't dictate morality to the entire world!" Fudge started growing red with anger. "Who are you to--"

But James was not about to let that go, and he was clearly not about to shout back. Instead, his voice became deadly quiet. "I am the Minister of Magic."

"Are you mad?" Fudge finally shouted. Something seemed to snap; his eyes went wide with fury. "Take the offer while you can!"

"No."

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

"I will not surrender."

He was watching the Ministry disintegrate.

"But we can't possibly win! And you're not Albus Dumbledore, to dictate the path of our world!"

"I don't have to be Dumbledore to know that we can't give in. We'll fight this--to the end."

Sirius shivered as James' eyes flickered to him. Please don't, they said behind a calm exterior. Don't do this to us, to our world. He'd never seen James look like that, never seen those frightened creases on his face. Sirius swallowed hard, shoving chance and desire away. I won't, his eyes promised in return. Then he shivered again, keeping the next thought inside. I won't break our friendship.

Morning heralded the arrival of a handful of Dementors escorting an irritable Martha Blackwood, her idiot brother, and a large wooden crate. Immediately, the creatures vanished into the dungeons, where Bella's morning session already had Kingsley Shacklebolt screaming and Sybil Trelawney whimpering in pain. The box and the Blackwoods, however, headed for the Great Hall, where the Death Eaters and their offspring were at breakfast.

Severus, of course, was seated at the head table. In fact, he had been given the distinct honor of the seat at his lord's right hand in thanks for his actions the night before. Has it really only been that long? Less than fifteen hours had passed, and Hogwarts would never been the same again.

It still rankled to see Voldemort in Remus' chair. In Dumbledore's chair. The Death Eaters had cheered when he sat down, and while Severus had clapped politely, he felt empty. He'd made the biggest mistake of his life, and was being rewarded handsomely for it. At Voldemort's right hand. Lucius didn't like that very much, either.

Young Draco's eyes shone when Martha opened the crate. A moment later, he led the children's laughter as a battered and catatonic Lee Jordan was lifted out. He hung limply in the air, no longer fighting or even trying--and somehow, that sight made a lump rise in Severus' throat when nothing else had. Maybe it was the children pointing and laughing. Maybe it was the satisfied smirk on Rodolphus' face. Or maybe he was just sick of this game.

Good thing you are, Severus, a dark inner voice reminded him. Because from now on, you are a Death Eater. There is no going back from here. No playing both sides. There's only one fatal move left to make.

Try not to swallow. Smile and eat breakfast. Be at ease and be proud. They had conquered Hogwarts.