Promises Defended

Promises Defended

Chapter Fourteen: Sacrifices Made

In another world, Number 12, Grimmauld Place, would also be a safe haven. It would be darker there, dirtier and dilapidated. But there would be more Weasleys and they were happier. For a time.

By the evening of the second day, most of the weeping was done. Even Molly Weasley only sniffled from time to time, having screamed her lungs out for this second son she had lost. Lily had stayed with her, leaving the other children to fend for themselves until Bill arrived with his energetic protégé, Nymphadora Tonks. Together, they had lifted the Misfits out of the rut Percy's death had put them in, and life restarted on the fifteenth of January. For the most part.

The tear-stained letter from Penelope Clearwater helped, because even distraught parents could take pride in the fact their son had died a hero. News coming out of Hogwarts was scarce, and parents were hiding their surviving children, but things had begun to settle down by the time the third day dawned. Even Harry could sense that, listening to some reporter on the WWN. People were coming to terms with Hogwarts' loss, even as they trembled behind locked doors and defensive wards.

The Weasleys and Hermione were also sheltering at Grimmauld Place for the time being--safety was paramount, and with James and Arthur both spending all hours of the day at the Ministry, Lily and Molly felt more comfortable together. Truth be told, the children did, too. They preferred to stick together. Dealing with the shock was easier when there were others to distract you.

"Not again," Harry muttered, glaring at the wireless.

"...And sources at the Ministry indicate that Minister of Magic James Potter's so-called War Council is in session once more. Rumors tell of a deadlock between department heads over the future of the Wizarding World and if peace should be given a try. Regardless, it is certain that the Ministry is still reeling over the loss of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, long considered to be impregnable. However, on this third day since You-Know-Who's victory, no Ministry forces can be seen in the vicinity of either Hogwarts or Hogsmeade..."

Harry reached out and slapped the OFF button. There was no use listening to news that his father and Arthur brought home every night, and caused the first genuine fight Harry had ever seen his father and godfather have. Sirius was itching to act, but doing so would tear the government apart--or so Harry's father claimed.

"I was listening to that, you know," Hermione commented dully. First her parents had died, and now Hogwarts was lost; Harry knew she was reeling inside. But she made no move to turn the wireless back on, even though she sat across the table from Harry and was just as close to the radio.

"Oh. Sorry."

Hermione shrugged and returned to her book, A History of Darkness, 1613-1877. Harry returned to staring.

The Misfits had more or less claimed the parlor as their own, wandering in and out of the library from time to time. Hermione was the most frequent seeker of books, but reading served as a bit of a balm to all of them. It was quiet and peaceful, yet they were not alone. Not being lonely helped, especially since they'd run out of games to play the day before, and pranks without Percy to play them on had lost their allure. Harry winced at his own thoughts. Why Percy? He was the most careful of us all.

"I wish there was something to do," Ginny said quietly, flipping through an old photo album on the couch. "Anything but...sitting here and thinking about it."

"Yeah," Ron said softly. "If we could only play Quidditch or something."

"Lily said we couldn't," Hermione replied almost automatically, earning herself a glare or two. Immediately, her face fell. "Sorry."

"Till tomorrow," George spoke for the first time. "We can play tomorrow."

"And even Hermione'll play," Ginny said put in. "Won't you, Hermione?"

Hermione sighed. "Ginny, you know I don't like heights."

"We'll stay low," Fred promised.

"And slow," George added.

"I don't even have a broom."

"My dad's go an extra one," Harry supplied. "You can use that."

"But..."

"Please?" Ron asked, uncharacteristically quiet. Hermione huffed.

"Fine." The Misfits grinned, finally able to smile. "But I'll sabotage the game, I swear."

Ginny giggled. "Just so long as there is a game." And so long as they could do it together.

Life went on. Even on the third day.

Remus' eyes were sliding in and out of focus. He'd already lost track of time; he thought four days had passed, but there was no way to be sure. No light entered the dungeons--No wonder why so many students think Severus is a vampire--and torturers arrived at erratic intervals. So did Dementors.

This, however, was different. He hadn't yet expected to face the Dark Lord. Not in private. Red eyes were studying him, stripping his outer image away and tearing into the man beneath. Remus shivered slightly, not bothering to hide it. If Voldemort underestimated him, so much the better...but enough was enough. He forced himself to stop. If Sirius felt this way for ten years, I've never admired him enough. Deep breath. There would be time enough for such thoughts later. Now, he had to survive and look Voldemort in the eye.

"You're doing well," his captor commented. "For a werewolf."

Remus just stared back. The trick was not to let him get under his skin, not to react.

"There is a full moon in four days, you know."

Silence. Remus hadn't forgotten, and he now knew how long had passed. Today was the fifteenth. Still three days.

"It will be your first time without Wolfsbane in years, won't it?" the other continued softly. "I imagine that will be quite painful."

So? It always is.

Cold eyes narrowed. "Your friend proved a much better conversationalist." Not a warning yet. Just a comment.

But Remus decided to oblige. "Sirius says a lot of things."

"Yet it's those he does not say that one has to pay attention to."

He does know Sirius well.

"What do you want from me?" Remus finally asked, knowing that Voldemort would perceive the question as a sign of weakness, but needing to turn the conversation away from his friend.

"Just the truth," was the soft reply. "Nothing more."

Remus shook his head. "You want Hogwarts."

"So I do." A slow smile spread across the pale face. "But I believe they are one and the same. Are they not?"

Silence. He'd only go so far.

"Have it your way, then. Crucio!"

The only good thing about his situation was that his research materials were intact. Everything he'd been working on prior to Voldemort's summons was exactly how he'd left it, which, in retrospect, should not have been a surprise. The dungeons were far emptier these days; even Slytherin students did not dare lurk in shadows. However, Dementors did not care about material objects, so Snape's research was safe.

Bubbling in an innocent cauldron in the back left hand corner of his private office, it had gone unnoticed even when Lucius wandered in at his side. There was no label, of course, but even a halfway decent potions maker could have discerned its purpose eventually. After all, a potion designed to counter magically-extended paralysis wasn't exactly subtle.

"Odd how true that is," Severus muttered under his breath, moving to stir the dark purple liquid. Things had to be bad if he was talking to himself.

But the answer had been staring Severus in the face. In retrospect, he realized that a lesser potions master might very well have created a solution in months less time than he'd taken; Severus had been wary of traps, of hidden ingredients and what he tended to call Cause and Effect Factors. After all, he had been a Death Eater for all of his adult life, and he knew how the mind of such a potions maker worked. Severus included seemingly benign ingredients into his potions, ensuring that the correct but obvious counter would bring out secondary effects worse than the original ones.

Martha Blackwood, however, wasn't Severus Snape. She wasn't really even a talented potions maker, in fact, which was what had thrown him off. Snape was used to higher quality competition.

He rolled his eyes and leaned over to sniff at the potion. It was almost ready; another four days of simmering and the process would be complete. After that, all he had to do was let the dark purple liquid cool down (it was currently boiling, and he adjusted the flame accordingly with a twitch of his wand. Simmer then boil, then simmer. So many students got that part wrong). One last stir, and then he stepped away. He wouldn't need to touch it again until the nineteenth.

Somehow, it was ironic that the cure for James Potter's paralysis currently sat right next to the now useless batch of Wolfsbane Potion he'd been brewing for that same day.

"Mum, I've got to go," Bill said gently, prying her hand lose from his arm. Molly looked like she wanted to cling to him, but Arthur took her hands instead. This was one of the rare moments that his father was home from the Ministry, and Bill was glad for it.

Behind the pair, his younger siblings and their friends crowded the front hall, silently watching the exchange. Bill had already shared light-hearted goodbyes with all of them, but everyone knew those had been contrived. Percy's funeral would have to wait until they recovered the body (if they could), and the lack of closure made Bill's departure even harder to bear.

For all of us. Tonks had gone home for dinner the night before, and her parents had tried to talk her out of this, too. At least Bill wasn't the only one.

"Be careful," his mum reminded him, her eyes saying something far more worried.

"I will, Mum," he promised. He'd stayed the night, but there was no way to stay longer. Not after what had happened.

She looked ready to cry, and Bill hated it when she cried. But he couldn't not go, and if he hugged her, it would only make things worse. She'd cling to him for hours if he let her.

"Good luck, Bill," his father said thickly. Dark circles framed Arthur Weasley's eyes, and he seemed far older than Bill had ever seen him look. The stress at the Ministry was eating at him, and James had already left for yet another meeting that Bill's father should have already been at.

"Thanks, Dad."

And he turned his back on them, heading for where Tonks already waited by the front door. He'd walked away a hundred times before, walked into danger with hardly a twinge in his heart or a look over his shoulder, but this time was different. This time he was leaving his parents behind with two dead sons, and they were praying he would not become the third.

Tonks smiled slightly, squeezing his arm before following him out the door. She'd already become as much a friend as she was a student, probably because of the relative closeness in their ages; they were only eight years apart. But Bill was glad for that friendship, especially now. Sometimes an Auror needed more than family to fall back upon. Family tended to study the risks and the dangers too closely, and try to talk you out of doing what had to be done.

His mum sobbed in the split second before the door shut behind him, but Bill closed the door with a resolute click. If he looked back, he'd probably not walk out again.

"My Lord, my I impose upon a moment of your time?" Lucius asked, bowing low. Voldemort appeared to be in a good mood, but there was no chancing what the homicidal Dark Lord might do next. Things had gone so well that he just might be looking for someone to punish. It happened sometimes, usually when one was least expecting anger. Lucius was of the private opinion that Voldemort's mood swings were intended solely for their audience; he wanted to keep his reputation for being unpredictable.

The head did not turn. "Speak."

"My son has some information that may be of service to you, Master." But he kept his hands tight on Draco's shoulders. It wouldn't do to let the boy say something foolish.

"Oh?" Voldemort finally looked over his shoulder, making Draco bow nervously--entirely too like a Jack in the Box and without any grace whatsoever.

"Yes, My--" Draco's eyes were the size of doorknobs, and he stuttered. "Master."

"Do go on."

The bastard was amused.

"There is a door underneath the castle," Draco replied quickly--too quickly. He was trying to get every word out in the same breath, and Lucius squeezed his shoulders hard enough to get the boy's attention. Thankfully, his son correctly interpreted the message, and inhaled once before continuing a bit slower. More dignified. "It's called the Founder's Door, My Lord, and legend says--"

"That it was built to safeguard Hogwarts' greatest treasure," Voldemort interrupted, his tone still light, almost bantering. "Yes, I know the story, and the door itself is gone now. What of it?"

Caught off guard, Draco floundered. "It--" he tried, then cut off. "Well--" Lucius had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. "I--"

"My son and his friends saw Lupin go through there a few weeks ago. He left with notes and left without them, My Lord."

"Oh?"

Even Lucius had to admit that sideways look was unnerving, especially if you were twelve years old. So he didn't bother waiting for Draco to respond. "It may be nothing, Master," he said smoothly. "But there is a possibility that Lupin left something behind, and I felt that you should be notified before any action was taken."

"Did you now?" the Dark Lord muttered, but Lucius did not take the bait. Wait for it... Voldemort waved a hand airily. "Very well."

It was clearly a dismissal, and not at all what Lucius had been hoping for--but he knew to take an exit when he had one, so he pulled his son into a jerky bow and swept out. He thinks there's something there. Did he not, I'd be investigating it now.

Draco scurried off immediately to find his mother, still rattled but now full of grand stories of having given the Dark Lord necessary information. She'd deal with him easily enough, and then send him off to tell his friends what he had done. No problems there; Narcissa was the thoughtful sort, and hearing Draco's tales would tell her where Lucius had gone.

He wasn't quite stupid enough to go down to the Founder's Door. Instead, he searched out the old friend who should have known Hogwarts better than any other. And why didn't you tell our Master this, Severus? Lucius wondered idly. Unless he already had. Or...unless Severus didn't know, which Lucius found hard to believe. Either way, something lay behind that door, and Voldemort knew it. Lucius would find out.

"So we're stuck here," Jason Clearwater said bitterly. "Is that what you're saying?"

For once, his mentor did not chastise him for the rude tone, or for interrupting their leader. But then, Hestia had her own loss to deal with, and it made the normally outgoing witch unusually quiet.

"No," Sirius replied, finding himself inordinately glad that Penelope Clearwater had not died. Her brother was already a problem waiting to happen; her death would have transformed him into a bomb waiting to explode. "You may leave when you wish. You can go home. But...we cannot act. Not yet."

"What if there are still children there?" Horace Smeltings wanted to know.

Sirius resisted the urge to sigh. "I don't believe there are," he replied quietly, knowing that the words weren't enough. "And the important matter is--as much as I hate to say it--if we act without orders, we'll tear the government apart."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Heads snapped around to stare at Jessica Avery. She shrugged. "I want this war to end as much as the rest of you, but certain individuals in the Ministry seem to be dragging it out as long as possible. If we could take Fudge down, we might stand a chance."

"Or Fudge might be right," Austen Fenwick muttered under his breath, earning himself a glare from his onetime Mentor, Alice Longbottom.

"Or he might just get us all killed with his stupidity," she retorted before Sirius could speak. "I'll believe that he's the Wizarding World's savior the day that Merlin dances naked on the Ministry roof."

"I didn't say he was the world's savior," Fenwick replied irritably. "Only that he might be right about giving peace a chance. Haven't enough people died?"

"And who are we if we--" Clearwater started, spinning to face Fenwick.

"Enough!" Sirius bellowed the word, less because he thought he had to than because he wanted there to be no doubt about where he stood. "No matter what our personal beliefs may be, the fact remains that we are Aurors, obligated to support the government in office if we like it or not. And right now, that means sitting on our hands."

"For how long?" Calvin Waters demanded. Odd how the old timers were staying quiet today, and the young ones were asking the questions. Did everyone feel the dread Sirius felt?

"I don't know."

"But there are--"

"He knows, Calvin," Cornelia Crouch interrupted quietly. "We all do."

"Breaking news--just in! Witches and wizards flock to the Ministry of Magic as rumors of a Vote of No Confidence in Minster James Potter abound. Sources inside the Ministry hinting that this might be a possibility early this morning, but this is the first confirmation we have heard--

"James Potter's War Council has been in a closed session since ten this morning, ever since Sirius Black arrived. The head of the Aurors and longtime friend of Minister Potter is sure to object to such a vote, and--"

James was slumped in his chair, looking exhausted. Had he slept the night before, or had he sensed this coming? Arthur Weasley had taken over the fight at least twenty minutes ago...which was exactly four hours since Sirius had stepped in the room and found the doors locked behind him.

Hell, I'm surprised they let me in at all. Would have been much easier for them to win if they'd started without me. He met James' eyes across the table; it was no coincidence that Sirius had placed himself opposite his best friend. But it hadn't helped. Looking at James just made his heart lie heavier.

"What are you thinking?" Arthur asked for perhaps the fifteenth time. "Are you thinking at all? We are so close, so close. Don't let Voldemort's victory at Hogwarts fool you--we've been making progress. Will you throw all of that away?"

"I fail to see how you can call children dying 'progress,'" Paden Patil replied tightly.

Arthur sighed, far too visibly for Sirius' tastes. He needed to watch his expressions more carefully. "I'm not arguing that Hogwarts isn't a tragedy," he replied. "Just that we can't allow one loss to do this to us. How many times have we pulled victory out of certain defeat? How many times have we found hope when there was none?"

Angry eyes followed Arthur's every move as he pointed at James.

"He did that. We didn't. Not a one of us has put a tenth as much heart and soul into our world as this one man." Adams bristled, but Arthur continued as Sirius tried not to sigh. "Is this how you thank him for all his hard work? By saying it was for nothing?"

"We are not," Fudge replied, rising gracefully, "diminishing Mr. Potter's accomplishment or even arguing that he failed to lead us well in a time of crisis. However, the fall of Hogwarts represents a new and unexpected phase of this war, and we need a new beginning to match that."

"A new beginning will only get us killed," Arthur replied bitterly. "It will lose the war."

"Hem, hem." Umbridge again, running interference for Fudge.

"There is nothing to guarantee that. You have your opinions, and we have ours. We are all on the same side here." His most winning politician's smile.

"Are we?" Sirius muttered, not caring if he was heard or not. Umbridge's head snapped around.

"Do you have something to say, Mr. Black?" she demanded.

"No." He shook his head. "The truth has already been spoken, and ignored, more than once. Nothing I can say will change your minds."

Triumph flashed in Umbridge's eyes, but Fudge was too canny to let it show. The toad smiled at Sirius in what she probably thought was a gracious manner, but he narrowed his eyes in return. Did they even know what they had done?

"In which case--" Fudge started until Sirius cut him off.

"I can say this, though." He did not stand, instead learning forward in his seat, his hands folded lightly on the tabletop. "If we don't fight him, Voldemort will win. If we negotiate for peace, making concession after concession, we will find that everything we have fought against has become our lives.

"Do you want death? Destruction? Torture?" Sirius struggled to keep his tone light, to keep the darkness out of his eyes. "No? Then fight him." One by one, he looked them in the eyes. "Fight him or die. It's really that simple."

"Hem, hem. We are not so foolish as not to place such restrictions in our demand for peace," Umbridge retorted, looking superior.

"And how will you enforce them?" Sirius countered. "How will you stop him when he starts again?

"No disrespect intended to anyone here, but I don't think a one of you--other than the man you're determined to replace--has the strength it takes to look Voldemort in the eye and tell him no."

Affronted, Fudge tried to defend himself. "I--"

"Especially you, Mister Fudge." Sirius did not smile sweetly, as he once would have. Now he was dead serious, and he wished they understood.

"Personal insults don't have a place here!" Adams snapped when Fudge stared.

"I agree," Sirius replied. "They don't."

"In which case, we ought to move along with the vote now," Amos Diggory interjected nervously. "Four hours is quite long enough to discuss--"

"Wait one moment," Arthur interrupted. "There's no reason to rush matters..." He trailed off when James shook his head.

"No," the Minister of Magic said quietly. "Take your vote."

His eyes met Sirius', and James shrugged. He looked so tired, so beaten, and it was time to end this, for mercy's sake if nothing else. James' logic and strength had not won them over. Arthur's passionate arguments had failed. Peter's brutal honesty had meant nothing to them. Sirius' words had fallen on deaf ears. Looking in his friend's eyes, Sirius knew it was time.

He didn't even want this job, Sirius remembered. We had to talk him into it. He could almost sense Lily outside the doors, eavesdropping, which she hated to do. And look at the good he's done. Has it all been for nothing?

"Very well," Fudge replied. "On this sixteenth day of January in the year 1993, in the matter of the Vote of No Confidence, I call for a decision." His eyes traveled around the table, hard and eager. "The Minister of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Confidence."

"Minster of Magical Games and Sports."

Adams went so far as to sneer. "No confidence."

"The Minister of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes votes no confidence," Fudge continued, looking right at James. Sirius could have killed him for that. Did the bastard want to ruin the world? "Minister of International Magical Cooperation."

"Confidence," Peter replied, his voice quiet. For a moment, his worried eyes met Sirius', and the smaller man tried to force a smile. It failed.

"Minister of Magical Transportation."

Diggory hesitated, glancing from Fudge to Adams and back again. "No...no confidence."

"Minister for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"No confidence," Patil replied immediately, making Sirius swallow. That was it, then. No turning back.

Fudge, of course, had to drag it out to the end. "Department of Mysteries."

"Abstain." Heads turned; eyes opened wide. Again? Bode's cool reply was a surprise, but it changed nothing. Fudge nodded at the Unspeakable, almost with respect.

"Very well. By a count of four to two, with one abstaining, the vote carries. In accordance with the dictates of the collected Ministers, a temporary Minister of Magic will be chosen until elections can be held or the war ended. As my Deputy Minister of Magic, I choose--"

"A moment," James interjected suddenly, something hard in his eyes.

"Mr. Potter, you have no place here," Fudge replied sharply.

James' eyebrows shot up, then he smiled wryly. "Be that as it may, I will say this one thing." The smile transformed into a hard swallow.

"You will regret this. Mark my words...you will regret this moment."

"Is that a threat?" Umbridge demanded.

James shook his head, suddenly looking sad. "No. I just pray you--we--our world--will not pay for this day with blood."

Flashbulbs erupted in his face the moment Sirius stepped through the double doors. He was a half step in front of James, who had refused to let anyone push his wheeled chair out of the Ministry. Peter, to Sirius' left, had tried too, but James was in no mood to be helped, no mood to be weak. Even then, his face remained composed when reporters started shouting.

Sirius grimaced and didn't care who saw it. This was not a day for false smiles and feigned confidence. Let the world know how thoroughly Fudge had betrayed them.

Speaking of which--the little fool stepped up to the pre-positioned podium and smiled slightly for the crowd. Oh, he was too smart to show the triumph he'd displayed inside the meeting, but he exuded confidence and righteous victory. Fool. The reporters had been forewarned, of course. Fudge knew his trade well. His trade. Sirius almost snorted out loud. The fool's trade was politics, and he was incapable of seeing past that.

"Minister Fudge!" Rita Skeeter's high pitched voice rose above the fray. "Are the rumors true? Are you now the Minister of Magic?"

A gentle smile. "Yes, Ms. Skeeter. I am."

Explosion. Reporters screeched questions, practically jumping on top of each other in a rush to get through. Some pushed, others shoved, and arms waved in the air for attention. Shocked eyes searched the faces of those standing behind Fudge (James and Sirius included), but aside from a twinkle in Nathaniel Adams' brown eyes, none of their expressions betrayed a thing. Still the reporters shouted, as if the loudest would gain recognition first and faster; understanding even one question through the chaos was impossible. Fudge waited them out patiently, with the same benign smile in place, looking every inch the statesman.

Silently, James rolled up between Sirius and Peter, his face set like stone. Sirius suddenly wanted to reach out to his friend, but the fury in those hazel eyes stopped him. James had no need for pity, even when he'd just watched his life's work destroyed. He didn't even want revenge; he just wanted to do the right thing, something Fudge would never understand.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Fudge's quiet (satisfied!) voice broke through the shouting; almost everyone quieted and stared.

"Minister--!"

"A moment, please," Fudge cut Li off calmly. "Allow me to make a statement first.

"As everyone here knows, Hogwarts has fallen to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. What you may not know is that we have been offered a chance to make peace. We have been offered a chance to end the war." Shocked oohs from the crowd. "Obviously, we can't pass this chance up." Fudge glanced at James, nodding courteously.

"Accordingly, the Ministry has transitioned to a government more fitted to the peacemaking process. Minister Potter has been an outstanding and inspiring war leader, and he has wisely recognized the need for change. Therefore, he has stepped down from the position and ceded leadership of the government to me."

He's being unusually kind, Sirius thought dispassionately. Then again, the victor can always afford to be charitable. Still...what is he going for?

"My Ministers are as follows. Deputy Minister of Magic: Dolores Umbridge. Magical Games and Sports: Nathaniel Adams. Magical Accidents and Catastrophes: Arnold Peasegood. International Magical Cooperation: Evelyn Midgen. Magical Transportation: Paden Patil. Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures: Amos Diggory. Mysteries: Abner Bode. And Magical Law Enforcement: Sirius Black."

What?

Startled, Sirius twisted right to look at James. He was the very last person that anyone had expected Fudge to retain; Sirius was easily the most obnoxious and least controllable of all the department heads. James, however, did not look surprised at all. None of the anger had faded from the former Minister's eyes, but grim understanding was etched into his features. Any words James might have said would be worthless now; Fudge had gotten to the broom first, had killed him with kindness. And yet...James nodded slowly.

"Prongs?" Sirius whispered, hating to seem unsure but unable to believe his eyes.

"Take it, Sirius," James replied softly, his eyes locked on Fudge. "Take it and do what has to be done."

Deep breath. "All right."

He could hardly imagine working for Fudge and Umbridge; working with them had been bad enough. But if James needed him to...Sirius would do it. Their new "Minister" was bound to make a hash out of everything, no matter who was helping him; however, there still had to be someone to put the world together after Fudge let it all fall apart. That would be James, but Sirius would help him where he could.

Reluctantly, Sirius stepped forward to join the other department heads, hardly noticing the scattered applause coming from the crowd. They'd not acknowledged any of Fudge's other appointments, but choosing James' best friend made Fudge look magnanimous. On the outside, it looked like a smooth transition. A happy one.

If only they knew what price this peace comes at, Sirius thought darkly. If only they knew that Voldemort probably doesn't mean a word of it. Probably. Something cold wrapped itself around his sternum and held on tight. Wherever Fudge's power play ended, it would not be good.

The crowd was surprisingly quiet, mostly glancing at James then Fudge and then back again. Ever since Dumbledore's death, the wheelchair bound James Potter had become a living icon in the Wizarding World. Despite his disability, he'd been a fiery leader whose words could inspire the ordinary to be extraordinary. Many people had kept fighting simply on the strength of his promise that a better day would come--what would they do now?

"Mister Potter!" Skeeter again, of course. "Do you have anything to add? Any objections? Surely you've--"

"I have nothing to add." A stranger would not have seen the furious pain burning in James' eyes, but Sirius knew him too well. He couldn't spare more than a quick glance at his old friend--Sirius was still amongst Fudge's supporters and bound to act impassive--but he again yearned to reach out. James would bury his frustration, and it wasn't good for him...but there was nothing Sirius or anyone else could do except try to make the world right.

"Are you certain?" Leah Lackey, a new Daily Prophet reporter, shouted.

"Certain," James replied coolly. "What is done is done."

What is done is done. Sirius shivered. And may the world forgive us when it fails.