Rating:
PG-13
House:
The Dark Arts
Characters:
James Potter Peter Pettigrew Remus Lupin Sirius Black Lord Voldemort
Genres:
Action Drama
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix
Stats:
Published: 01/04/2005
Updated: 04/09/2006
Words: 102,743
Chapters: 24
Hits: 32,685

Promises Defended

RobinLady

Story Summary:
The war has been raging for twenty-two years. Voldemort has taken Azkaban, destroyed the Ministry, and massacred innocents in Diagon Alley. The government is in pieces, the Aurors are crippled, and the Order is struggling to hold the world together. Little stands between the Dark Lord and final victory, save the bonds between four friends—bonds by which the Wizarding world will live or die. Set in the Unbroken Universe, the sequel to Promises Remembered. AU.

Chapter 21 - The Moment Lost

Chapter Summary:
The war has been raging for twenty-two years. Voldemort has taken Azkaban, destroyed the Ministry, and massacred innocents in Diagon Alley. The government is in pieces, the Aurors are crippled, and the Order is struggling to hold the world together. Little stands between the Dark Lord and final victory, save the bonds between four friends—bonds by which the Wizarding world will live or die. Set in the Unbroken Universe, the sequel to Promises Remembered. AU.
Posted:
04/09/2006
Hits:
960


Promises Defended


Chapter Twenty-One: The Moment Lost


The Misfits walked together to the Hospital Wing to see Lee, fairly well bursting with excitement and worry all at the same time. On one hand, they were incredibly grateful to have their friend and final comrade back, but on the other...Ginny cringed at the thought. Lee must have seen hell, and worse. He wouldn't be the same any more, wouldn't be able to be. Madam Pomfrey had kept them out of the Hospital Wing until now, probably trying to spare them from seeing the worst--but Harry and Ron both still had Invisibility Cloaks, and all six of them had snuck in a few nights ago, just to see how Lee was doing. They hadn't woken him, of course, but they'd stood a silent vigil for about an hour, watching over the friend they had lost and regained.

Today, however, both cloaks had been left behind because Professor Lupin had told Pomfrey that it was time. So they slipped through the partially open doors, silent and serious enough to confuse any of the Misfits' denser classmates. But this was not a time for jokes, and they did know the difference.

Lee lay quietly on the bed when they reached his side, clearly sleeping. His face twitched every now and then, indicating that he wasn't entirely peaceful--but he looked so much better that it took Ginny's breath away. Last time, horrible nightmares had a hold on Lee, but now he looked peaceful. Perhaps even normal. Don't hope, Ginny. And don't let the others. We all know that can't be true, not yet. She sighed quietly and took her glasses off to rub her eyes. They would wait and hope.

Almost two hours passed, in which Madam Pomfrey tried to throw the Misfits out at least four times. George asked her why every time, but she'd only been able to answer that they didn't need to see the "worst of this," the same words she'd used every time. Ginny had to smile wryly at that matron's tone--what was Pomfrey worried about? Did she fear that seeing Lee's battered condition might shock them? That they might lose their innocence?

If only she knew. Ginny grimaced. She'd forgone innocent dreams and expectations when Charlie had died. That day, she'd realized that war was not a distant evil, and she'd understood that this one would continue for decades more. Ginny would leave Hogwarts in just over six years. She fully expected to have to fight when she did.

Lee stirred, moaning softly. Immediately, Pomfrey spun into action, casting diagnostic spells, bringing a glass of water to the bedside, and easing Lee into consciousness. This was not the first time Lee had awoken, of course--Pomfrey would never have let them be present for that--but it was the first time anyone other than professors or his mother had been present.

Ginny held her breath as Lee's eyes flew open, wide and wild and frightened. George, reaching for his old friend's shoulder, jerked back as Lee tensed. His worried eyes sought Fred's, and then the twins looked back at Lee. Pomfrey spoke quietly to Lee, reassuring him, but Ginny did not notice the words, and she was sure Lee did not either. His eyes were too busy darting around the room, from George to Fred to Hermione to Ron to Ginny and finally to Harry. His expression eased a little as he focused on each, seeming to relax as he laid eyes on Harry.

Strange.

------------

But Lee was paying attention to Fred now, listening to Ginny's brother's hesitant words with tired awareness. She didn't pay too much mind to what was said; Ginny felt out of place here--she didn't know Lee as well as the others did, and knew he'd always seen her as the twins' baby sister. That had never bothered her before, and didn't really now, although she did feel like she hardly belonged in the Hospital Wing for such an important moment.

"Thanks for coming. All of you," Lee said softly, proving her wrong with a wan smile.

But his eyes were still frightened. Fiddling nervously with her glasses, Ginny figured that was to be expected. How could he not be? Only fifteen days ago, he'd been in Voldemort's hands, and Merlin only knew what the Death Eaters had done to him. I'm not sure I want to know, either, she thought, swallowing hard. Still, Pomfrey had already found a therapist for Lee, and his mother was staying at Hogwarts to help him. All they could do was be his friends, and Ginny figured that the Misfits could help him through this. Together.

George replied to a quiet question of Lee's as Ginny slid her glassed back on; playing with them was a nervous habit she needed to break. So she folded her hands primly and struggled to stay still.

"We'll have you on your feet in no time," Harry put in hesitantly, and Lee's eyes turned to him again.

"Yeah."

Suddenly, Ginny realized that she had been holding her breath and not knowing why. She heaved a sigh, tried not to fidget, and focused on what Hermione was adding to Harry's comments. Something about pranks and...

"I'm sorry to hear about your parents," Lee interrupted. "I know how it feels." He swallowed.

Hermione nodded quickly, but Lee's eyes were still on Harry. Emotion flickered across Lee's exhausted expression and--

Something was wrong.

George forced a smile. "So, how long do you think Pomfrey will keep you down, Lee?" The matron had walked away when Ginny hadn't been paying attention. "Things haven't been the same without you."

"Not at all," Fred chimed in. "The younglings are too inexperienced."

"Hey!" Harry and Ron exclaimed together, but the twins kept going.

"No sense of history."

"No depth at all."

"No--"

"Lack of common sense?" Hermione cut George off, smiling sweetly. The twins grinned widely, and the others chuckled, only a bit uneasily.

Lee managed another tired smile. "I can't wait," he said softly.

"We can't either," Hermione replied encouragingly. She still looked so worried, though the boys' expressions were easing--but Hermione was always a worrier, so things were normal there.

"You just need someone else to share the blame," Lee whispered hoarsely, something flickering in his eyes.

Something--

"We ought to go," Ron put in. "You look really tired."

"No." Lee's eyes went wide. "Don't go."

The standing Misfits exchanged uneasy glances, then Fred forced another smile. "All right," he replied cheerfully. "We'll stay forever, then."

"And ever," George confirmed, flopping casually against the bed. "Soon, you'll be wishing you were rid of us."

"We're such a nuisance, after all," Harry added. "Always playing pranks and all. Professors hate us, you know."

Lee's eyes never left Harry's face.

Ginny did not hear his forced reply. She only felt her own eyes widen, felt her heart start to pound. Something is wrong! Very wrong. Fear flicked through Lee's eyes--gone in an instant--and Ginny found herself fidgeting again. She forced herself to breathe regularly--this had to be her imagination--and tried to refocus on the conversation.

"So, just last week we--" Ron.

Lee's left hand was drifting, and suddenly her sweaty fingers wrapped around her wand. Ginny didn't remember reaching inside her robes.

"So, then Professor--" Hermione, smiling hesitantly.

"These glasses may seem normal, but appearances are often deceiving. Much like a certain map that your brothers have inherited, these glasses give you the power to know what lies on the other side of walls. However, not all walls are physical, and these glasses, when worn, can breach them all; they will give you the vision to see through walls of untruth, of disguise, and of desperation..."

George's robes were a bit askew from leaning on the bed, and his wand was sticking up under his armpit. Ginny doubted that he'd noticed, because he was too busy trying to cheer Lee up, but Lee's hand was still inching across the bed...and Lee's eyes were still on Harry, growing wide and frightened.

Oh, no.

"Don't do it," she whispered unconsciously, too softly for anyone else to hear.

Except for Harry, who turned to face her. "Huh?"

Something was so wrong.

Lee's face twisted in horror as his hand darted out, moving in a blur no one recognized as dangerous--

"Don't do it!" Ginny shrieked as George's wand leapt into Lee's hand.

At the last moment, Lee's anguished eyes met hers, and Ginny understood. By then, her wand was already out, already pointed at their battered friend.

"Ginny, what are you--" Hermione started.

"No!" Lee howled. The wand came up, arching around towards a wide-eyed Harry.

"What's all this shouting?" Pomfrey demanded, and her footsteps rushed in their direction. Ginny ignored her; there wasn't time.

"Madam Pomfrey, quick!" Hermione shouted.

"Lee, don't!" But she knew he couldn't help it.

"Ginny, stop!" Fred shouted, trying to grab for her arm. He still hadn't seen.

"Lee, what--" Harry cut himself off when the wand stopped, pointing directly at his face. But it shook unsteadily, and tears poured down Lee's face.

"Stupefy!" Ginny shouted,

Lee collapsed back against the bed.

------------

He sat by himself again, wreathed in darkness, even though he had promised the others--and himself--that he would not. But Sirius had to. Over the last few months, he had learned so much and come so far...but not far enough. Not yet.

Grindelwald had been right. The game was not so much about power as perception, and he who possessed the initiative would call the last play, the one that mattered. The one Sirius had to control if he was even to have a chance at winning. He had once sworn to become what Voldemort had, to follow the road of a Dark Lord. At the time, Sirius hadn't fully realized that his split-second decision to change would mean more than developing Voldemort's powers, but he was trapped by that oath. Doing so had not been the smartest choice he had ever made, for all the necessity that drove him. Still, Sirius had done so...mostly.

"Learn the rules your opponent plays by," Grindelwald had said over yet another game of chess. "Only then can you draw him out and force him to play by your own."

That, however, was a lesson Sirius had learned long ago, even if he had not realized it then. A lesson that had been cemented by stepping around a simple corner.

"You have a choice," the Dark Lord told him immediately. "One I would not offer to someone of lesser blood."

Sirius arched an eyebrow. He knew what was coming, knew what his answer had to be, no matter what. Yet he had to struggle not to swallow in anticipation, and maybe in a little fear. Maybe.

"Join me. You are not the coward your younger brother proved to be." Burning red eyes glared and made him shiver. "The fact that you are here proves you have courage, and you would do well in my service."

Chained with his back against the hard stone wall, Sirius answered: "See, there's the problem. I don't do well serving anyone."

Being flippant was a mistake, of course, but he did not yet know another way to act.

"Crucio!"

Blinding pain hit him--pain that, in retrospect, seemed so minor. Still, a long moment passed before the curse was lifted, leaving Sirius panting and shaking in agony. Voldemort continued calmly.

"And James Potter? Do you serve him by dying?"

"Better than by betraying him," Sirius gasped.

He hadn't learned to play by other rules for many years.

Year ten.

"You continue to intrigue me, Sirius," Voldemort said quietly.

"Glad to hear it," he wheezed. "Otherwise, there's not much point in keeping me around."

"Or alive," the other pointed out dispassionately, but Sirius had long since grasped the intricacies of this dynamic.

"Or that."

Odd how he had no fear of death now. In his more lucid moments, did he know that Voldemort would not kill him, or was he simply insane? There was so little difference these days.

A hand landed on his face, and Sirius cried out in pain. Blood splashed down his throat, burning, and he felt like giant knives were shearing his jaw off. Voldemort whispered: "Just reminding you."

The hand lifted, and Sirius wheezed.

"Thanks. I had forgotten."

"Carnificius."

The oldest of torture spells, this one was notoriously easy to counter, which had eventually made knowledge of the Carnification Curse almost completely extinct. However, Sirius was in hardly any condition to react, let alone fight the spell, which was different from the Cruciatus Curse in many ways. Both more bone-jarring and blood-curdling, the Carnification Curse often had the side effect of pulverizing bones instead of just causing muscle spasms. Sirius screamed, and everything went black.

His hands moved, silent and deadly, practiced now. Light flashed between them, and Sirius let it vanish into the night. Moments later, the power impacted with a nearby hillside and sent dirt and grass flying everywhere.

Good. It worked.

Sirius lifted his wand again and Apparated home. He was ready.

------------

"..em. The same way, every night. I've watched."

"I'm sure you have," Amanda Pieters replied, scowling. This entire conversation was leaving a rotten taste in her mouth; she happened to like the target in question. But when one picked the winning side, you couldn't be particular about your friends.

Or your informants. And as the old adage went, if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself. She couldn't stand this prickly, arrogant, and over confident woman, but a source was a source, and the Dark Lord demanded revenge. Idiot. I hope someone catches you in the act and executes you for treason. At least then I wouldn't have to listen to your voice.

"I find your tone hardly complimentary," the other woman snapped. "I'm passing valuable information on to your Lord--"

"Our Lord. You are his as well."

"I merely pass information. Doing such a thing is not the same as what you do," was the superior reply.

Pieters snorted. "Sure it isn't."

But it'll get you just as dead.

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He should have seen it sooner. Should have realized that Voldemort could never allow such a thing to exist...but then again, he'd never quite heeded Dumbledore's words. "I urge you to make use of my memories in any way possible, Remus, for they certainly do me no good now. I have learned many lessons in my long life, both good and bad, and I sincerely hope that you do not make the same mistakes."

Yet he had.

He had forgotten.

Remus swallowed hard, and the closed the cabinet doors on the shattered Pensieve. For the most part, his office had remained untouched--strangely enough, Voldemort appeared to have used the desk and materials to write a few letters (perhaps memoirs?), but for nothing more. Odd; he had expected to find a disaster akin to what Voldemort had done to his body. Yet the Dark Lord had always been full of surprises, and this day was no different.

Why the Pensieve?

There was a logical answer, of course. There had to be something in there that Voldemort did not want known, did not want Remus to find--something he doesn't want me to tell Sirius, Remus realized with sudden clarity. He swallowed hard, shook his head. How could I be such a fool? He had always assumed that the Pensieve would be there when he needed it, that Dumbledore's memories would be available...yet he'd never used them. Why? Had he feared destroying the mystery surrounding the late wizard? Possibly...or maybe Remus had just been afraid of what he might find.

And now he would never know. For a moment, Remus slumped against the cabinet doors, feeling dizzy and empty. Foolish. He should have known better. Then he smiled wryly. Despite all his wisdom, despite all the foreknowledge the Font had given him, he was still human. Remus smiled lopsidedly. Dreadfully so.

He stepped away from the cabinet, then turned back to give it one last look. Almost without meaning to, he whispered: "What were you hiding?"

But there was no answer, and the mystery remained.

The walk home was short, and he'd always walked it. Even in the darkest times, Peter had found the walk from the Ministry to his flat a good way to clear his head, an appropriate way of leaving the day's worries behind. There was something about Apparation that simply didn't allow one to do so; perhaps Apparation was just too fast and too easy.

He had plenty of worries to leave behind today, too. Even though Fudge had fired him from his slot in the upper levels of the Ministry, Peter still worked there. He was also the only man that the French ambassador had agreed to negotiate with, and he'd been spending every waking minute struggling to keep the French in the alliance against Voldemort. As recently as two months ago, other nations had shown interest in joining Britain's cause--but no longer. Now, even their closest ally was wavering, and Peter was terrified that he wouldn't be able to convince them to stay. Six days of constant talks had gotten them nowhere at all, and Peter's concerns kept growing. So Peter walked. Just like he did every day.

"Crucio!"

Peter screamed in pain. Air rushed out of his chest as he fell to the ground, twitching and screeching, unable to react. His mind was a blur. His nerves felt ready to explode.

It was a typical human reaction. His attackers had every reason to expect that he'd be just like every one else. Except for one thing that they'd forgotten.

Peter Pettigrew had been a Death Eater.

In 1981, he had made a fateful choice. Perhaps not for the best of reasons, but Peter had made that choice. And he'd walked the road that his attackers still walked, played the evil role and betrayed good people. Now he regretted the choice. He still worked to overcome it, to repay a dept that could never be repaid. But along the way, he'd become rather accustomed to the Cruciatus Curse. After all, Peter Pettigrew hadn't ever been a very efficient Death Eater.

So he had a lot of practice.

Peter rolled desperately, knowing that was the only way to break the curse loose. Sure enough, the caster hadn't thought he might move and wasn't paying enough attention--the curse snapped. Someone swore--Peter thought he sounded like Harper--as the former Death Eater fumbled for his wand, trying clumsily to get up at the same time. His limbs felt heavy. His head felt the size of a hippogriff.

"Urghh..." He lurched to his feet.

"Stupefy!"

Somehow, he stumbled aside, wand in hand. Peter squinted in the dim light offered by that single streetlight, trying to make out his foes. There were two of them--or was that a thirrrr--?

"Crucio!"

"Rumperis!"

"Vexameum!"

Something cracked--something snapped--something broke. Peter screamed and screamed, felt himself hit the ground again and was immediately unable to move. There was too much pain, too much--

Blackness.

------------

"You will not see me again," Snape said softly, his voice oddly devoid of bitterness. "Not after this day."

James twisted in his chair to face the other man, noticing the acceptance with which Snape said those words. Had he not known better, he might have thought that Snape was...at peace with his decision. That the Death Eater turned member of the Order of the Phoenix's Inner Circle was relieved by the recent turn of events. James swallowed, shaking his head slightly. Perhaps he's simply tired of acting. I know I would be, in his place.

Still, when a wry smile crossed Snape's face, James realized that this was the happiest he'd ever seen the other man.

"I understand," he replied, squelching his doubts.

"Drink this," Snape continued briskly. "Half now, and half tonight. At midnight."

"Why midnight?" James asked curiously.

"There are some things even you don't want to know, Potter," the other retorted. "Suffice it to say that some potions work better amongst the darker hours."

"Did you use Dark Magic in this?" James demanded. A cold chill ran down his spine, and he studied Snape closely. Would even he dare? The former Minister of Magic swallowed hard. Yes. Yes, I believe he would.

"Do you care?" Snape asked archly.

For a long moment, all he could do was stare into the standing man's black eyes, hearing that question over and over again in his head. Do I care? James shuddered, almost ashamed for wondering. For wanting. He was a better man than that, wasn't he? Wasn't he one of the good guys? An eternity of soul-searching later, he had to answer honestly.

"Not as much as I should, no."

Snape snorted without humor. "Good, then. Too much morality does not become you."

James scowled. How dare even he--

"There is no Dark Magic in this potion," Snape cut the thought off with unusual forbearance. Then his face grew grim. "However, there was Dark Magic in the potion that paralyzed you, so take this as instructed. If you do not, the effects may be...severe."

"I understand," James replied softly. "And I am grateful. Really."

"Hm."

"I am...Severus. Honestly." He managed a smile, which was not returned--but then again, he did not expect it to be. "Thank you."

"You are welcome," was the stiff reply. "And goodbye."

------------

"Ennervate."

Peter groaned. Everything was spinning; the world was at an off kilter angle and bouncing up and down. Even when he forced his eyes open, he couldn't see anything. A long moment passed before he was sure that he was even breathing.

Then he heard the voice. Voices?

"Wake up, Pettigrew," someone snarled. "Traitor."

A foot contacted with his rib cage, and Peter grunted in pain. Then something jabbed in again, and he gasped. It burned! Breathing was suddenly hard. Harder.

"Easy, now," another voice drawled. "We wouldn't want to kill the Dark Lord's newest example." Malfoy. Impossible to miss that condescending tone. Hearing it made Peter want to weep; why was it that Lucius Malfoy tainted every important decision of his life?

He blinked groggily. After several seconds, Peter managed to focus again on what looked like two Malfoys, three Dolohovs, at least one Smith and another Yaxley. He blinked harder, sure that he was seeing more than quadruple, that his mind was making up faces. They really needed four Death Eaters to deal with me? Peter Pettigrew? The coward?

"Can you hear us?" Melissa Smith growled.

Peter managed to "Umgh" through the stickiness in his throat.

"Good enough," Malfoy declared. Peter squinted to focus on him. "Now listen closely, traitor. Our intention is not to kill you. It simply wouldn't do to destroy one of the Famous Four before our Lord is ready."

Peter swallowed hard, not sure if that was good or bad. But doing so made breathing a bit easier.

"Then what do you want with me?" he asked hoarsely, surprised at how level his own voice sounded. Was that because Malfoy said they weren't going to kill him, or was he just getting used to life and death situations?

"All in good time," Yaxley purred. "Crucio!"

The world exploded, and Peter screamed. Dimly, he heard someone laughing, but he could not tell who through the pain. The curse continued until he was right on the verge of passing out, and then stopped without warning. Of course, they were experts at knowing that exact moment--and Malfoy, at least, knew how to tell Peter's exact body language before passing out. So Peter lay twitching and panting until Malfoy spoke again.

"I'm sure you're beginning to comprehend the theme of this little meeting, Pettigrew," the Death Eater said conversationally. "Are you not?"

"I--" Peter swallowed back the lump in his throat, coughing. "I--"

"Crucio!" Malfoy snapped, and Peter's back arched off of the ground and slammed back down again. His throat was already raw; at this point, he'd have given almost anything for a glass of water. Soon, he'd start muttering gibberish--Peter knew himself. He didn't have that much control... Then the pain stopped.

Peter groaned again, coughing up blood. His vision swam when he opened his eyes, but he focused more quickly this time. Practice, perhaps?

"Do you understand yet, Pettigrew?"

"Or do you need another lesson?" Dolohov demanded without giving him a chance to reply. Smith and Yaxley laughed with him as Peter shook his head wearily.

"No," he managed hoarsely. "I understand."

"And what do you understand?" Malfoy asked with exaggerated patience.

"The Dark Lord does not forget," Peter recited by rote. He remembered.

"Good," Malfoy praised.

Heartbeat.

"Crucio!'

Peter had time to brace himself, but doing so did not help. Every nerve exploded anyway, and bracing oneself never did a damned thing. Still, perhaps his screams weren't as loud, and Peter didn't grovel or plead. He was proud of himself for that. The others must have noticed, because he was again near passing out before the curse was removed.

He tasted blood and realized that he must have bitten his tongue. It hurt almost as much as the rest of him did.

"What else do you understand, Traitor?" Smith demanded. "Do you think there's something else to remember?"

Peter didn't even have the energy to moan. He just lay on his back, staring up at her. When did I end up on my back? Everything was getting fuzzy. Peter blinked confusedly.

"No answer?" Smith snickered. "Well, then--Crucio!"

And Yaxley--"Rumperis!"

He yowled, and something broke. Everything burned. Make it stop! His throat had to be torn bloody, but Peter wouldn't give in. He wouldn't plead. He would not break. Not now. Even if it killed him, Peter had come too far. He'd grown too much. And his friends--

I am a Marauder, he thought with sudden clarity. I made mistakes, but I'm still one of them, and I'll hold out like the others, no matter what it takes.

Hovering on the edge of consciousness, Peter suddenly felt at peace. He barely heard the last words Malfoy spoke:

"Tell your friend that this is the price he must pay."

------------