Promises Defended

Promises Defended

Chapter Fifteen: Choose Again

She watched them dump the body into the mass grave without so much as a second look; she'd heard a nonchalant Death Eater call it "the Pit" the day before and had been disgusted. Now, though, Tonks had become numb to the cruelty. She felt bad about that, but it was hard not to be after watching so many bodies go into that putrid and uncovered hole right in the middle of Hogwarts' courtyard. After a while, one just...hardened.

Obviously, her enemies had gone even colder than she had, because two children had delivered the late Professor Vector's body into the grave, and no one in their right and caring mind would send children to carry out such a grisly task. Even if they were seventh years and probably already recipients of the Dark Mark.

Great. Tonks grimaced at the thought. At that age, she'd been worried about passing her N.E.W.T.s and getting that Gringotts job she'd wanted so badly. She'd been concerned with making her parents proud, and maybe with avoiding the less savory members of her mother's family. Nothing more. At seventeen, these two Death Eater offspring were killing good people. Had she not been an Auror, that fact would have been enough to make her sick. I wish I weren't so jaded already, she thought. Was the world always so dark, or is it that I'm seeing it through shadowed eyes? Forcing herself to shrug, Tonks turned back to her log.

Ten o'clock in the morning and all was the same. No further arrivals, new departures. She frowned slightly. Even Voldemort's nightly attacks had ceased; ever since he'd taken Hogwarts, the Death Eaters had seemed content to lie still and celebrate. Tonks hadn't expected that, but she hadn't really expected any of this in the first place. It mostly figured.

Minutes ticked by, and the sun grew slowly in the winter sky. The Aurors had been watching Hogwarts since the previous afternoon, taking four hour shifts and rotating through one by one. Most of the lookouts were full-fledged Aurors with their protégées, but Bill had to go somewhere at midnight, and he hadn't come back when it was time to leave. That had left Tonks standing watch by herself, but Alice had just smiled and said she'd do fine. On one hand, such confidence was warming, but on the other, Tonks would much rather have had her Mentor there. At least he could have given her someone to talk to.

One more hour. Tonks would never have thought four hours could feel so long. Two hundred and forty minutes. Fourteen thousand four hundred seconds. Forever, it seemed, crouched or lying on her stomach in the trees closest to the main gates. She'd had to walk there from the outer edge of the Forbidden Forest, which had been mildly pleasant (if a tad unsettling), but trudging back held no allure whatsoever. It would take her almost an hour to get back to Avalon after she was relieved, and Tonks was sure that she'd walk straight into a full day of work. At this rate, it was going to be one hell of a long week.

A dark figure crossed the courtyard as she watched. The dim light made recognizing a face difficult, but Tonks would have known the arrogant stride anywhere. She'd watched it daily for seven years, and though she'd respected the man attached to the cold face and dark glare, she'd never liked him.

Rumors of his role in Hogwarts' fall certainly weren't helping that, either.

But she watched as he approached the Pit, noticing that his steps seemed oddly businesslike; most of the others approached either reluctantly or gleefully. There'd not been a middle ground--until Snape.

He stopped at the edge of the hole, looking down with mechanical motions. A long moment passed as he stood there, his hands clasped behind his back. Finally, Snape's wand emerged, and dirt began filling the hole.

Paying his respects? Tonks wondered with surprise. She'd not thought Snape to be the type, but what other purpose could he have? She doubted that such orders came from Voldemort, who seemed to view the pit as a public relations statement, or maybe just indication of his respect for his enemies. Lack of respect, more like. But Snape was not acting like the others. Maybe, Tonks reflected, things weren't quite as met the eye. It wouldn't be the first time the Aurors had been wrong about someone.

Snape walked away before the hole filled, vanishing back into the castle. No one seemed to notice his small act of--kindness?--but Tonks was glad for it. Sometimes even the smallest actions were important.

He quickened his pace. Running late wasn't a habit Snape liked to cultivate, but sometimes doing so was unavoidable. Even when one worked for Lord Voldemort--but this master would not understand the necessity of covering up that mass grave. He'd not even accept the hygienic reasons; not with magic available to counter prospective diseases. Still, Severus would take his chances. Perhaps he was getting sentimental in his old age, but some things just had to be done. Thankfully, he stepped inside the hallway (via an old passage parallel to the dungeons that no one ever used) thirty seconds before Voldemort.

"My Lord." He bowed low, but wasn't about to kneel in this filthy hallway. Black robes showed dirt entirely too well.

"Severus."

A slight nod, and he was gestured forward. Together, they stepped through the decayed doors, with Severus wisely a half-step behind his master and to the left. Old formalities still mattered to some.

The ancient words above the door frame were barely visible through the dust. "Leve fit, quod bene fertur, onus." A good philosophy.

A cold chill ran down Severus' spine; he'd never been beyond the Founder's Door, had never wanted to. He had inspected almost ever millimeter of the Hogwarts' grounds and castle, but never here. The popular legend had kept him away, even when his students muttered about the mysteries and wallowed about in the dust. Severus Snape was rarely interested in the obsessions of others.

"What do you know of this place?" For a moment, it appeared that Lord Voldemort could read his mind--Severus quickly checked his own defenses--though he could not.

"Almost nothing, Master." At least he could answer truthfully.

"Which is?"

Five steps into the room, and Severus could almost feel something building, something growing. Reaching. Power?

"Just the legends," he muttered, wishing he dared cast a diagnostic spell. There was a different sense to this room, unlike any magic he had ever encountered. What are you? Something deeper than knowledge spurred the thought.

Crack. A table shattered, but Severus kept his attention on the illusive feeling.

"And this?" Voldemort's voice was suddenly sharp, and Snape refocused on him.

The Dark Lord was standing over a rusted grate, looking down. The former table lay in pieces on either side of the grate, strewn about like a careless three-year-old's toys. But Voldemort stared down. At the grate.

"I have never seen it, My Lord," he replied frankly.

Snape stepped over, looked down, and immediately realized why Voldemort was so transfixed by the grate. No, not the mere barrier. That means nothing. Rather, the Dark Lord stared at what lay beneath the rusted metal--swirling circles of light, flickering in and out between invisible and brilliant. The power he'd sensed lurking was there. His eyes took a moment to adjust, but then Severus realized that he wasn't looking at anything in a liquid form. This was simply air. Magic.

"My God." He spoke without realizing. To his right, Voldemort nodded, seemingly just as unconsciously.

"The mystery is explained," the Dark Lord breathed, sounding as close to wondrous as Severus had ever heard him. "So much makes sense now."

Indeed it did. Hogwarts was the most unique magical environment in the world, both alive and latent with power. Many had wondered what made the school so, but now Severus knew. If I was Salazar Slytherin, where would I have decided to build my school? Severus resisted the urge to smile. Right on top of a Font of Power, of course. And this had to be one of the fabled Fonts, written of only in legend and the oldest of history books. The last had supposedly vanished over one thousand years ago...which, come to think about it, was just about right.

It was brilliant. And--!

"Lupin tapped into it," he said with surprise.

Cool eyes turned to study him. "You did not know?"

"No, Master. I did not."

"Interesting." No disbelief, just a soft and thoughtful tone of voice. "I wonder..."

Silence, and then when Severus could stand the wait no longer (you could dare a lot more when in an intellectual conversation with Voldemort; he respected intelligence above almost anything else): "My Lord?"

"'How' is the question, Severus." He returned to studying the hole, a faint frown on his face. "But it does solve the other mysteries."

"That it does." Except one.

Remus, how did you know?

He wanted to groan or just to bury his face into his hands. Severus had been at Hogwarts for years longer than Remus, and had thought he knew everything about the school, even the darkest secrets. Dumbledore had tru--Dumbledore!

"Dumbledore told him," Severus blurted out, almost without meaning to. But it didn't matter. Voldemort would know, soon enough. "He must have."

Voldemort snorted. "For years the world thought he was so extraordinary. So powerful." He sneered. "Now we know the truth."

Severus nodded mutely, unable to find an appropriate response. He had to agree, of course. In a way, Voldemort was right. The secret of the Font did explain a great deal about Dumbledore's legendary powers. But that doesn't change who he was. Even you can't do that.

"It should be dawn by now," Bill said quietly. Tonks was on her way back, (probably trudging irritably through the Forbidden Forest by now) and Cornelia had embarked on some harebrained study project or another that Frank had put her up to.

"Over an hour ago, actually," Frank replied. "Even this time of year."

There were no stars, even. The two could hardly see one another in what Bill had thought was the predawn darkness. Frank appeared to be frowning, but it was almost impossible to tell.

"When do you think dawn will break?"

His companion hissed out a breath. "I'm not sure it will."

"Me neither," Bill replied, sighing. He didn't know enough about the island--not nearly enough to even hazard a guess about what was happening--but intuition was raising alarms. "Let's walk to the beach."

"Any of them." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah."

They walked slowly, careful not to trip over anything in the dark. Avalon was a well settled island, having been populated for as far back in history as Bill could tell...but the odd and unexpected often happened on the Aurors' Island, and they weren't trained to be careless. Bill led, weaving his way through the minefield by memory, and then surmounted the final rise. Somehow, what he found could not surprise him.

Huge waves crashed into the beach, rolling over the sand as if they meant to sweep the island away. Bill squinted a little--there were even less stars along the horizon here--and guessed that the waves were at least fifteen feet high. Maybe more. He didn't know much about weather, but Bill knew that was strange...even for winter in the north. That was especially true for Avalon, whose weather didn't follow the seasons anyway. Bad weather always meant bad tidings. Darkness.

"You think it's a coincidence that Fudge deposed James yesterday?" Frank asked.

Bill felt cold. "I wish."

"We need to tell Sirius about this when he gets back," Frank added. His voice grew cold. "Whenever that is."

"Yeah."

"You think it'll stay like this?"

"I hope not." Bill had to shrug. "But if it does, what does that tell us?"

"I wish I knew, Bill." A wry smile, barely visible in the gloom. "Though I don't think I want to."

Lily and James stayed behind after the others left, looking blankly around the old Muggle warehouse. Moments before, the abandoned building had been almost full--every member of the Order of the Phoenix who could make it had been there, except for the Aurors. They were being watched closely enough without risking this.

Sirius, also, was not present, but his was a different reason. Stuck in a "planning meeting," he'd been unable to even send a message, but both Potters knew what Fudge was doing. It was a foolish attempt to wean Sirius away from his friends, and was easily noticeable.

"I still think you should have--" Lily started, only to have James cut her off.

"No. I'd rather lie low for now." His voice was flat.

"James..." she sighed. "This isn't your fault. It's political maneuvering, that's all. As usual, Fudge is more concerned with his own power than what's right."

James swallowed. He was exhausted, Lily knew, having tossed and turned and not slept all night long. The rushed Order of the Phoenix meeting that morning had only made things worse. "Yes, but--"

"But nothing, James." Lily twisted to face him. "You were right. Don't second guess yourself. Voldemort can't be allowed to hold Hogwarts. Look at the panic it caused today."

A pregnant silence followed her words, and then her husband finally shrugged.

"I guess you're right. But you handled it well."

"Thanks." She smiled wanly. "I wish I didn't have to."

"Yeah."

Remus' capture had torn a hole in the Order's organization that even Dumbledore's passing hadn't caused. Then, the transition had been fairly smooth, but Remus had no heir apparent, no fallback position. Normally, James could have filled the void as Minister of Magic, but yesterday's events had left him feeling drained and seeming somewhat tainted in the eyes of the world. More importantly, he needed to step back, needed time to get his bearings once more. Looking at him now, Lily could see what she'd missed before.

So she had moved forward. She'd assumed the leadership position that she'd never wanted to and had tried to sooth the fears felt by her fellow Order members. Her efforts had some effect, though not enough; volunteers had been few and far between even after the Order had voted to work to free Hogwarts. Still, they had time--a little--and those who had volunteered were good people. They'd find a way to get the job done.

"Let's go home," she said, cutting her own thought short.

"Godric's Hollow?" James asked, mockingly hopeful. Lily had to smile sadly as she moved behind his chair.

"I wish," she breathed.

James glanced up at her, and she saw the old determination creep back into his eyes. "Someday," he promised. "Somehow."

"Someday."

"What would happen if I threw you in?" Voldemort asked idly. Remus had been thrown into a decaying chair and was glad for the opportunity to rest his sore arms; he wasn't moving. Not drawing attention to the fact that he probably could was the safest course of action, too, so he only shrugged slightly. Tiredly.

"Not much," he replied truthfully, waiting for the wand to rise.

It didn't; Voldemort just arched one quizzical eyebrow. "Oh?"

Remus shrugged again, inventorying injuries. His body could have been in worse shape...but it still hurt more than even his worst transformations.

"Should I try, then?" the Dark Lord asked with a hungry smile.

"The grate's locked," Remus pointed out.

"So you think." The long yew wand flicked in the direction of the grate, but Dumbledore's handiwork did not budge. First one muttered spell and then a second failed, and the amused smile melted into anger. After the third spell, burning red eyes turned on Remus.

"Crucio!"

Fire encased him, and Remus screamed. Every nerve in his battered body objected to the treatment, and pain stole his awareness. He was still distantly conscious of his surroundings, but the longer the pain went on, the more days that passed, the less focused Remus became. That reaction was perfectly normal, but it worried him; Remus had become accustomed to the strange awareness, comfortable with the split ability to think and to feel. However, the pain was rarely too much for him to handle; it was the exhaustion that ate away at him. As the spell ended he slumped, surprised to find himself still in the chair.

"Can you open it?" the dangerous voice asked. Distantly, Remus noticed that the wand had lowered.

No point in lying. "Yes."

"Open it."

"No." His voice was slightly raspy, but not too bad.

The wand came up. "Now."

"No."

"Do you want to die, Lupin?" Voldemort demanded, sounding furious. Remus had never seen him like this, and though he expected that a horrible temper lurked beneath the calm, he'd never thought it would come up so fast.

"Not particularly," he replied. Then he smiled. Why not? "But you'll have to ask a lot nicer than that."

Something in the red eyes danced. Burned. "Crucio!"

After a few moments, the world went dark.

"I want to help," Julia said quietly, sitting cross-legged on Sirius' couch. She'd been there when the Potters returned, and when Lily had asked how she'd gotten into Grimmauld Place, she'd only answered that Sirius had shown her years ago. Apparently, even Mrs. Black had approved of her--a lot more than she approved of her son.

"You already have, you know," Lily replied, still caught a bit off guard.

"Not enough."

Lily shrugged awkwardly. "Nothing is ever enough."

"Too true." Julia smiled a bit, looking just as uncertain as Lily felt. Somehow, the expression softened that classic but cold Malfoy beauty, made it more human. "But I want to do more. Openly."

"Openly?" she blurted out.

"Yes. I'm sick of hiding and staying in the shadows," was the blunt reply.

"That could kill you, Julia. Especially since you were a Death Eater."

"So? Risk hasn't stopped anyone else, and being a spy was worse." Her gray eyes darkened. "Besides, I'm not risking anything I really stand to lose."

"Don't say that," Lily replied a bit sharper than she'd intended.

Julia, however, shrugged. "Why not?" Then she smiled sadly. "There's only one future for me after this war, Lily, and the sooner we end it, the more likely that future is to remain alive."

How could one argue with that? Not very well, even if Lily didn't like the fatalist viewpoint. "I understand what you mean." She paused, wishing Remus was there. He would have handled this so much better. "What can you do?"

"I was Voldemort's searcher, his explorer. It kept me out of a lot of the...darker aspects of being a Death Eater, but it also meant that I traveled the world," she replied, "I met a lot of people for him, forging--if not alliances, at least truces. I can do that for you."

Her eyebrows shot up; the possibilities were endless. "Keep talking," Lily ordered.

"Some of them won't agree with you. A lot of old Wizarding communities--especially the Egyptians--agree with Voldemort about purity and isolation. But some don't." Julia paused. "The Russians, probably, would come down on our side. So might most of Asia, if we phrase it right, though the Chinese think like the Egyptians. Incredibly ancient and biased."

"I don't think I've ever even looked past Europe," Lily replied honestly.

Julia smiled a bit. "Most people don't. Europe is hard enough to deal with as it is." She shrugged. "Besides, most other countries won't get involved no matter what we say...though I think Russia, Switzerland, and America might. Especially Switzerland. They've got an excellent Special Action Team, their equivalent of the Aurors."

"I had no idea."

"Me neither, till I got chased by a squad of them." Julia laughed. "I borrowed an artifact they didn't want stolen." Lily, too, caught herself chuckling. She'd never known Julia well; their social circles had been anything but the same at Hogwarts and later in life. Still, she liked Julia, and respected what she was trying to do and had done. Sometimes, Lily thought it took more courage for a pureblooded witch to fight Voldemort than it did for a Mudblood to do the same. They had so much more to lose.

"That bad, huh?" she finally asked.

Julia grinned. "Only if you get caught.

"And you didn't, of course."

"Once." Julia sobered a bit. "Lucius had to bail me out. That wasn't in Switzerland."

"Bad?" Lily asked.

"Not really." Hers companion shrugged again. "Not pleasant, but not bad, either. Lucius was obnoxious enough about it for years."

"I can imagine." She really couldn't, but what else could one say? Lucius Malfoy wasn't someone she could imagine having as a big brother. "Anyway, I can't give you a concrete answer yet, not until Remus comes back." Whenever that is.

Julia nodded, obviously hearing the unspoken thought. "That's understandable. It'll take me awhile to start contacting people, though so if I can start now...?"

"Do it," Lily said decisively, half-wondering what she was getting Julia into. Still, she'd asked, and what else was there to do? The war went on, even with Remus in Voldemort's hands. Don't think of that right now.

They exchanged a few more irrelevant pleasantries, and then Julia left. Lily watched her go, biting her lip and thinking of what the war cost their world already in terms of hope. "While there is life, there is hope." Who had said that? Some Muggle writer, perhaps, but she could not remember. Despite all that had happened, Lily had been lucky. She still had her family, her closest friends--except Dumbledore.

Don't think of that, either.

Except it was too late, and she still burned for revenge. For victory. More than anything, Lily wanted to make the world right...but if she could avenge Albus Dumbledore's death while she was at it, that was just fine with her.

He couldn't taint James with this, and he certainly couldn't take James with him. Another Auror was out of the question; one Auror could be a rogue, but two were a conspiracy, especially with one of them as Sirius Black. Lily was a possibility, but her presence would incriminate James, too. What he really needed was another Animagi, someone else who could--Peter. Would Peter go? It was far from his area of expertise; Peter was no warrior, and would be quick to tell anyone who asked. Would he go?

In a heartbeat.

"...so what you have to realize is that we can't continue to fight the war at this rate. We just can't," Fudge was saying. "Statistics just aren't in our favor."

Sirius tuned back in. His marathon long session with Fudge and Umbridge was on its sixth hour, and if he had to listen to the Toad Woman say "hem, hem" one more time, he'd put his head through that wall. Preferably through that awful painting, Sirius thought nastily. Where did Fudge get that? The day-old Minister had already ruined James' office.

"You are the only man on our side who knows He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named well," Little Fool went on. "You've got the best chance of getting through to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in any form of--"

"Voldemort," Sirius cut him off. "It's only a name. You won't die if you say it."

Fudge blanched, blubbered for a moment, and went on. "As I was saying--"

Sirius interrupted again, not wanting to hear the end. "Having courage isn't that hard, Fudge," he said flatly. "You only have to teach yourself not to be afraid."

"Hem, hem."

Painting, here I come! Sirius smiled sweetly at Toad Woman. "Yes?"

"The minister was speaking," Umbridge replied primly.

"So was I." He shrugged. "Besides, I know exactly what he's going to say."

"Oh, do you?" Toad Woman asked sharply.

"Yup," Sirius replied cheerfully, turning to stare at Fudge. "You're going to ask me to go as your envoy to Lord Voldemort. To talk peace. What you're going to neglect to mention is the separate deal you've brokered with the help of Toad Woman here, in which I am the bargaining chip you trade to buy peace." He spat out the last word.

"You're also neglecting to mention--through no fault of your own--that Voldemort won't bother with peace. He may not even bother killing me, but that's another story entirely. What he will do is prosecute the war straight to the end, and without me to stop him, Cornelius, you're fucked." He killed the mocking smile.

"Completely fucked."

"I--I would never do such a thing!" Little Fool replied, probably more shocked by Sirius' use of profanity than anything else.

"Sure you wouldn't," Sirius replied easily. "Are we done here?"

"No, we aren't done!" Little Fool sputtered, going red.

Sirius rose.

"Hem, he--"

"Will you stop saying that? It gives me a headache."

Toad Woman glared, but Sirius ignored her and strode over to the exit. Only once he had opened the expensive looking door did he look back. "I won't be your errand boy, Fudge, and I won't be your tool." Sirius inclined his head slightly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've work to do and a school to free."

"I already told you that the Aurors--" Fudge started, his voice cracking like a boy going through puberty.

"The Aurors can't act. I know." Sirius stepped out. "And they won't. Good day."

Click. The door snapped shut, and he could hear Little Fool and Toad Woman shouting on the other side. Sirius did not look back.

Screaming from the courtyard. It sounded like Shacklebolt.

Severus and Lucius exited the castle at a studiously casual pace. Both were curious, but appearances had to be maintained--especially here, as Death Eater politics were of the nastiest sort. That, of course, was why they walked together, proving that Severus' recent elevation did not change their relationship. Still, playing the game took time, time that Kingsley Shacklebolt might not have. His screams were quieting ominously.

There was already a crowd when they strolled into the courtyard, watching and laughing as young Marcus Flint screeched:

"You want to kill my father, you dirty Mudblood? You think it makes you powerful to kill a Death Eater? You think--"

"Curse him again, Marcus!" Everard, another seventh year, shouted.

"Crucio!" Young Flint thundered. Anger and pain, Severus thought dispassionately. A powerful combination.

Shacklebolt screamed, but not nearly so loudly. The big man was already battered and bleeding--an Auror was always a favorite target for Voldemort's followers--or else he'd have been more than a match for the young man whose father he'd clearly killed during his escape attempt. The curse wore off quickly, though. Flint didn't have the strength or practice to hold it longer.

"Do it again!" another student yelled; Severus did not catch who.

"Interesting," Lucius purred.

Flint obliged the onlookers again. "Crucio!"

"Wasteful," Severus retorted, moving forward and shouldering his way through the crowd. Most were students, but even the adults gave way as Shacklebolt writhed weakly on the ground. Finally, Severus reached Flint's sides. He grabbed the boy's wand arm, forcing it aside. Thankfully, spoiling Flint's aim stopped the spell. With a more powerful wizard, the Cruciatus Curse would have merely redirected.

"That's enough, Mister Flint," he said coolly, dragging the young man aside.

"But he--"

"Enough."

Flint had been Severus' student for eight years. If nothing else, the edge in Severus' voice stopped him.

Seconds later, the story poured out. Blubbering, Flint told of his father's careless moment, Shacklebolt's escape, and Lloyd Flint's dead body lying on the dungeon floor. The broken neck hadn't killed him quite instantaneously, but a nearby Dementor and shock more than made up for that. Rodolphus had stopped Shacklebolt, of course--even weakened, an Auror would have torn through young Flint like a dagger through paper. Then Rodolphus had stepped back and let Flint play. Sick bastard. He's not old enough for this.

And what were you doing at his age Severus?

Unconsciously, his right hand twitched towards the left and Severus had to make an effort to stop it. He'd taken the Mark at seventeen. Flint was now eighteen, having been held back a year for poor academic performance. Still, he seemed far younger than Severus had ever felt.

"Come inside," he ordered, pulling Flint along. Voldemort was watching now from the back edge of the crowd, but no one else had noticed him...even Lucius. Severus chose to continue as if he had not, towing Flint towards the castle.

Along the way, he speared Bellatrix with a cool glare. "Take your toy back to where it belongs."

"Of course, Severus." She giggled, stepping over to kick Shacklebolt where he lay. The Auror moaned. Severus did not look back.

The chain around his neck was unusually loose, though not so much that Remus could slip it over his head. Besides, he lacked the energy to try--his session with Voldemort by the Font had been exhausting, not to mention painful. Still, he was feeling better than he ought to have been, and that was something. A grim smile crossed his face. Doing so hurt, but felt good. Remus had won. The Font was still his secret, and Hogwarts was still safe. Until you break, a traitorous voice in his head whispered. Until then.

Remus gave himself a mental shake. Sirius had lasted for ten years; he could too, if he had to. Pain was only pain, after all. Sirius had been right about that. Loneliness was what killed you, but Remus knew that his friends would not leave him, not for long. He'd be rescued or he would die. Did Sirius once think that way? Remus had to swallow. Why was Sirius always the metric for this? No matter. He'd hold out. Tell yourself that after the full moon, the voice reminded him. Forty-eight hours.

Almost exactly, too. There was no light in the dungeons, but Remus had started to discern a pattern. Bellatrix came in the morning, before breakfast. Rodolphus liked evenings. Midday was reserved for the Dark Lord when he desired. Night was for the Dementors.

So this was night. Dementors were lurking, and Death Eaters stayed clear. Except--voices.

"Tell me of the prophecy." Soft, almost a hiss. Voldemort.

"I don't...I don't know." Trelawney had been whimpering for so long that Remus had unconsciously tuned her out. Now she gasped for air.

"Don't you?"

Bellatrix's giggle, Bellatrix's voice. "Crucio!"

Trelawney did not even scream. Was she that far gone? Remus shivered, hoping he was wrong. She's just weak. They won't let her die. She's too useful, knows too much. She was still whimpering weakly, gasping for air.

Doesn't she?

"I don't know...what prophecies..." she whispered when it ended.

I know what they're talking about, Remus suddenly realized, feeling cold. But she can't. She doesn't remember.

"Offenvox!" Trelawney groaned as Bellatrix giggled again. "Answer the question, fraud!"

"I don't...know!" Trelawney whined, wheezing.

"She's fading fast," Lucius Malfoy's dispassionate voice.

Bellatrix continued to giggle. "Do you care?"

Remus could almost hear Malfoy's shrug, and he could hear that Malfoy was right. Sybil Trelawney was dying. He swallowed hard, his early confidence fading fast. Will they let her die? Voldemort answered that question immediately.

"Keep pushing," he commanded coldly. Remus heard footsteps; he was walking away.

"Formidilosus!"

Moan.

"Carnificius!"

"I don't..."

Giggle. "Perhaps you will now! Crucio!"

A short scream, and then whimpering.

Laughter.

Whisper.

"Formidilosus!"

Moan. "I..."

Giggle. "You what?" It sounded like Bellatrix was dancing.

"...don't..." And then the voice changed, still raspy and weak, but somehow strong. "The dark end approaches... Fate now balances upon the edge, dependant upon the choice of four friends. Yet while four will walk, one must stand... One alone must challenge the darkness before the dawn ... For the choice has been his, and strength does not come from power alone...strength lies in what remains when all hope is gone... One has chosen, and one must choose again... The darkness encroaches, and he who made the choice can bring the end. He who made the choice upon shall all depend... The end approaches..."

She trailed off. Thump. Was Bellatrix shaking her? "Say that again!" the torturer demanded.

"No need." A cool and soft voice, entirely too unsurprised. "She's dead."