Promises Remembered

Promises Remembered

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Five: Against an Army

POTTER NEW MINISTER OF MAGIC

by Eric Dummingston, Special Correspondent

Two weeks after the attack that destroyed the Ministry of Magic and

left both the Minister and Deputy Minister dead, an interim Minister of Magic

has emerged from the chaos. Although offered stiff competition from

Cornelius Fudge, currently the Head of the Department of Magical

Catastrophes, James Potter has been chosen to lead the Wizarding

World out of the turmoil following Albus Dumbledore's death. Although

chosen on a temporary basis through a vote by the acting Department

Heads in the Ministry, public opinion indicates that Potter will be quickly

voted into the job. A former Auror and Head of Magical Law Enforcement,

Potter is currently still a patient at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical

Maladies and Injuries after suffering major injuries during the attack.

In a surprise move, Potter has selected Arthur Weasley, formerly the head

of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, as his Deputy Minister of Magic.

Although many expected Fudge to be chosen for the position, Potter went

on record as saying: "Arthur Weasley has long been overlooked in the

Ministry of Magic. He is an extremely talented, dedicated and intelligent

wizard, and I firmly believe that he is more than prepared to fulfill the

requirements of his new post."

About the continuing war and the Ministry's future, Potter says: "Although

we have many challenges to face and have been hurt badly, we have not

yet been overcome by darkness. While we must remember and mourn those

.we have lost, let us also honor them by carrying on the battle that they lost

their lives fighting. Together, we can and will succeed. Together, we possess

the strength and courage to push back this encroaching wave of darkness.

We will not surrender. We will not forget."

Potter's words speak of hope, which as all who cheer for the light know, has

been in short supply lately. However, only time will tell the truth in this case;

either Potter, with help from the mysterious Order of the Phoenix (see page 7

for rumors and reports of this organization) will be able to fight back He-Who-

Must-Not-Be-Named's growing power, or he will fail. While the first seems

unlikely, and the second inevitable, we must remind ourselves as a community

that all is not lost until the end.

Hopefully, Potter will be proved right in saying that it's not over yet.

In other news, the last two weeks have seen a marked increase in attacks by

followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Thus far, sketchy reports from

the shattered Ministry imply that at least three Aurors have been murdered,

and several others have been injured in attacks upon their families.

Attacks upon three prominent families have also been acknowledged, though

theidentities of these witches and wizards have not been released.

There was no moon over Godric's Hollow as darkly robed figures crept towards the front walk. Skull-like masks obscured their faces, and wands were held in steady hands. They were darkness. They were death. And they were ready to kill.

"Are we ready?" a quiet voice whispered from within the house.

"Oscar reports that they've crossed the first line," another replied. "No sign of recognition."

"Stand by, then."

A long moment ticked by, and the silence was audible. It was easy to imagine that they could hear footsteps as the Death Eaters grew closer, even though logic told them that the enemy was too far away for human ears to identify. One of their number, of course, probably could hear them, and his grave features were a study in concentration as he listened. After a slight hesitation, he nodded to his friend, and another heartbeat passed.

"Are you ready, then, Peter?"

"Yes." His hands were shaking slightly, but he managed to make his voice come out evenly. A smart corner of his mind knew that he shouldn't be here--he hadn't the training or the experience--but he wanted to be. Peter needed to be. Besides, the Aurors were short-handed enough as it was, and Sirius hadn't had to ask. Remus was there, too, because this was personal. Friendship meant everything to him, and he wouldn't watch it shatter under any kind of threat, even that which that he feared the most.

"Send the message, then," Sirius replied without looking away from the window.

Peter complied, his eyes on his friend's face all the while. Stark and white in the starlight, Sirius' intent features hardly resembled the carefree prankster Peter had known of old. The boy-Sirius and the happy-Sirius hadn't been like this, he knew; those other Siriuseswere the ones who Peter always encountered, not this serious and experienced Auror he saw before him. Thin wrinkles of anger lined Sirius' eyes, though, telling Peter that his friend felt the same way he did--Voldemort was targeting their friends. Tonight, for all three Marauders, was personal, and even the professional concentration on Sirius' face couldn't hide that. Those who dared to come would not leave easily.

He felt his lips curl into a snarl. If they leave at all.

Never before had Peter really wanted to kill, but tonight was an atypical night. All old constants and beliefs had flown out the window when they had gotten word that Voldemort was coming after Lily and Harry. Not even a week after they had left the protection of Hogwarts, the Dark Lord had targeted James' wife and child. If there was anything that could change everything, this was certainly it.

Snape had barely even gotten word to them in time. Snape. The thought of the greasy gitas a spy nearly made Peter laugh out loud, and he hadn't been able to believe it at first--but Remus hadn't had time to hide the truth from Peter, who had been there when Snape had finally sent the message out. During all of his years as both a Death Eater and a member of the Order, he'd never even had a clue--the oily bastard played his role to a tee. Even now, Peter had a hard time wrapping his mind around the concept; it was simply unbelievable that Severus Snape was anything but the most loyal of the Dark Lord's followers. Peter had always hated him for what he represented--but what did it say about him when he knew that Snape had made the same choice he had, only at far greater risk to himself and over a decade earlier? His intense hatred for Snape could only be beaten by that he felt for himself.

Still, Snape's courage was about to save Lily and Harry's lives, which meant that the past was about to become unimportant. Trivial. He'd even thank the slimy jerk if this all worked out right.

"First ward down." Remus' voice was disembodied in the darkness; wherever the Order's head stood, Peter couldn't see him at all. He swallowed.

"Are they that good?" The ward had gone down without a sign or a sound at all.

Sirius' voice was grim. "Yes."

"That's the second one," Hestia Jones said quietly as a flash of light flared briefly in the night, approximately a hundred yards away from the front door. Aurors laid in wait between their position and that, but even though the second ward had seemed far away an hour earlier, it seemed very close now.

"They won't make that mistake again." Even though Peter could see Sirius, it was as if a stranger was speaking with his voice. Remus, too, seemed so different, so ready--why was it that his hands wouldn't stop shaking?

"Bellatrix is leading now," Remus said suddenly.

He heard Jones' sharp breath, and knew there had to be some kind of history between the Auror and Sirius' cousin, but there wasn't time to ask. Peter was the message-maker, and he had to concentrate on his task. He was the only link of communication between those outside and the few who waited inside, pretending to be a sleeping Potter family and not twitching until the moment was just right.

"Let her come," Sirius said evenly, softly. He almost seemed to relish the idea, but was far too calm for that.

Peter frowned and glanced at where he thought Remus was, wiling his voice to come out without cracking. "Is there any sign of--Voldemort?"

"Not yet." And if the werewolf's sharp eyes couldn't see the Dark Lord, it meant that Voldemort wasn't there. He'd entrusted this task to his followers, it seemed, and denied them the chance to draw him out--but why? What did he have to fear?

This time, it was Sirius who let out a quiet hiss of frustration, but Peter couldn't agree with his friend's feelings. He only felt immense relief upon learning of the Dark Lord's absence, because he wasn't ready to face him. Peter also wasn't ready to hasten any of his friends' deaths, and couldn't help thinking that if Voldemort came, some of them would die--and the deaths would likely start with Sirius, who was stupid and brave enough to step out and face the wizard who'd killed Albus Dumbledore.

"They've breached the third ward," Remus said, interrupting Peter's train of thought. The shorter man closed his eyes for a quick prayer; hoping against hope that they'd all come out of this alive. When he opened them, his fears hadn't lessened, but at least he felt better. Marginally.

"Get ready."

Squinting, he saw Sirius shift ever so slightly, adjusting his wand so it sat in his hand just so. Peter started to lift his own, but a surprisingly gentle hand pushed his down.

"Whatever happens, stay down," Sirius said quietly.

"I can--"

"I know, Peter," his friend replied, squeezing his wrist. "But I need you ready to tell Kingsley and the others when to go."

Finally, he found his voice. "You don't have to protect me, Sirius."

White teeth flashed in the darkness as the other smiled. "Old habits die hard." A final squeeze of his wrist, one of friendship, then the contact was gone. "Just be careful, Wormtail."

"Always." Peter swallowed again, and prepared for the worst. It was time.

He squinted once more into the darkness, peering down the Potter's front walk. In the faint starlight, he could see the ancient metal gate, wrought centuries before by the finest of Wizarding artisans, which protected the ancestral home of Godric Gryffindor's descendants. Once strong enough to repel an army, the gate had become only a decoration long before Harry Potter's birth; it symbolized, more than anything else, the Gryffindor tradition of openness and trust. So it was with confidence that the leading Death Eater reached out to push the gates aside, sure that that ancient opening was nothing more than it seemed. The Gryffindor Gates opened without protest, sliding out of the way easily and silently.

The fireworks started shortly after that.

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"Now."

Sirius' voice had hardly even been a whisper, but there was nothing restrained about the impact his command caused. Out of the corner of his eye, Remus saw Peter's wand stab forward perhaps too quickly (but he couldn't blame his friend for his nervousness) and alert the Aurors who were hidden outside. Inside, Hestia Jones cast the final spell on the still invisible far line of wards, and outside, Rodolphus Lestrange reached for the front door's handle, surprised to find it unlocked--

Remus brought his wand right in a sweeping motion, activating the spell worked on the front porch and keyed to the doorknob. Screams immediately assaulted his sensitive ears, and he smelled burning flesh and fire--but there was no time to register the carnage. A quick jerk of his wand brought it back to the left, triggering the wards at the back door. A window broke in front as an intuitive Death Eater came crashing through, but Sirius, waiting for such a moment, felled the dark wizard and sent him flying back to join his comrades.

Outside there was shouting,angry voices that had identified the three spell casters and were now yelling instructions. After a moment, Remus recognized Snape's irritated sneer.

"It's only Potter's stupid friends," the senior Death Eater snapped, presumably aiming his ire at those who had retreated off of the front porch in alarm. "Will you allow a werewolf, a traitor, and a fool to force you back?"

Silently, Remus thanked his deputy headmaster. Snape had not known their plan, of course, but he was smart enough to figure it out. After another moment, the other Death Eaters might very well have come to the same conclusion, but Snape's provocative challenge engaged their egos instead of rational thought. Unexpectedly, the senior Death Eater had pushed the final piece of their risky plan's first stage into place. Shields ready and snarling defiance, Voldemort's followers came on once more.

A man on the floor, screaming and in pain.

Remus blinked, but the unexpected image did not go away. "A mistake?" a cold, high voice demanded. "A miscalculation?"

Snape lay panting and shaking, temporarily free of the curse. Slowly, the Death Eater drew himself to his knees with unsteady limbs but an expressionless face. "My Lord," he said after a moment. "I made the best decision I could based upon--"

"Crucio!"

"Remus!" Peter's urgent hiss snapped him out of the vision. Shaken, Remus lifted his wand in a rush and joined with his two best friends as they spoke the final incantation together.

Years of pranking had given the Marauders a knowledge of charms more extensive than most witches or wizards would acquire in a lifetime. Not only had that allowed all four boys to score exceptionally well on both their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s (even Peter, who still thought himself stupid), it had also strengthened their understanding of how different types of magic worked together. For example, an accident during third year had taught them that a combination of the Impediment, Disillusionment, and Flashing Paint Charms created mass confusion and disorientation far stronger than any ConfundusCharm could ever hope to cause. A grim smile crossed Remus' face. That was one lesson that Flitwick had certainly never expected them to use in the real world.

The door opened just as all three spells struck. A moment of absolute and eerie silence reigned then, in which Remus hardly dared to breathe. For a moment, he began to fear that the idea hadn't worked--then the confused shouting set in. By the sound of things, the spell had hit Snape and the Lestranges first--Snape had grown suspiciously silent and all three Lestranges were shouting. Bewildered questions filled the short moments of quiet, and for thirty blessed seconds, none of the Death Eaters remembered why they were there.

"Now, Peter!" Sirius was in motion, and Remus leapt forward at his side.

James, standing face to face with Voldemort. Flash. Lily, with tears running down her face. Visions. Harry, being shouted at by a fat man and a bony woman who Remus thought he recognized as Lily's sister. A fat boy glowered at Harry from behind his mother--Sirius, standing alone in a storm--

No! He'd only gone three steps, but it felt like a lifetime had passed. Not here! It took all Remus' strength of will to banish the visions that still danced behind his eyes. Not now. Not here. Not now. Peter was to his left, Sirius to his right. Jones was diving out the broken window, and they all came outside together. They had approximately twenty seconds now to wreck as much chaos and carnage as they could muster. From the darkness, Kingsley Shacklebolt's team came rushing forward, pinning the Death Eaters between the gate and the house.

Red light flashed. Sirius and Jones had struck first, their reflexes a hair faster than Remus' confused mind could keep up with. The world still felt like it was running in slow motion; visions still fought for attention at the back of his consciousness. Suddenly, Remus found himself irrationally angry with Albus Dumbledore--Why me?--but the moment passed quickly, and he channeled that fury into his magic.

They poured power into the enemy, even little Peter Pettigrew, whom everyone always underestimated. For almost half of a minute, they struck at will, encountering little resistance until instinct began to overcome confusion and the Death Eaters began to fight back. But by then they'd been forced back and clumped together, driven away from the back door by a fast-approaching Oscar Whitenack and Mucia Coleman, both of whom had only recently been released from St. Mungo's. Within that first minute, half of which the Death Eaters wasted trying to organize, the outnumbered Order members had made greater strides than they could have dared hope for. Five Death Eaters were down, and none of their own had fallen--

Then green light filled the air and the fight began in earnest. An image flashed in Remus' mind, and on instinct he reached out and pulled Peter away from a Killing Curse. A quick return spell was eaten up by Bellatrix Lestranges' shield, but Peter got through with a Shocking Spell and Remus heard her swear angrily. Dodging a Blasting Curse from Nott, he tried to send one back in exchange but miscalculated and missed, though fringes of the curse struck Avery instead.

Every now and then, images fought to worm their way into his mind, but Remus forced them back. It was hard enough to follow events without having the presence of--of what? he asked himself helplessly--lurking in his mind. The fight had become utter chaos in the space of a moment. Remus had only participated in an all-out battle once before, when Voldemort had attacked Hogwarts all those years ago. And even that had been nothing like this--Godric's Hollow had become a free-for-all; there was no time for sides of for battle lines. There was hardly time to even begin to think, and Remus had to thank his enhanced hearing more than once when it provided his only warning before a spell could strike. He found himself separated from Peter quickly enough and devotedly hoped that someone was looking out for the smaller man...

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In the darkness, other battles waged. These were quieter, and slower, but no less deadly because of it. Unanswered and unthought of questions came to light as Dementors converged upon one home after another, taking innocent victims as they slept. Few knew to resist. Fewer still succeeded.

None, however, were without purpose. Down fell the Mudbloods and the Half-bloods; they died without knowing and often without even understanding. Their families joined them, more often than not, and many died in the darkened hours that all would come to fear.

Susan Bones was the first; along with her older cousin whom had steadfastedly stayed out of the war. The last two members of a family that had nearly been destroyed by Lord Voldemort, they fell side by side, altered too late to fight but just early enough to understand what they had lost. Tim Sloperdied in his bed, as did both of his parents, who were Muggles and never had a clue. His younger brother, Jack, was a year from receiving his own Hogwarts letter and would now never do so. Like the Slopers, the Greengrasses fell without a fight; they were a family of old Slytherins who had never supported the ambition and evil of Lord Voldemort, and now found that his memory was indeed long enough to remember a boy from his own class, so long ago.

Last to go were the Lovegoods, father and daughter. The Dementors had hunted them solely out of spite; once the Dark Lord found a score to settle, there was no hope. Outnumbered and hopeless, both fell to the Kiss--like many others, not truly dead, yet never to live again. Both were found by a neighbor the following morning, sitting soulless and empty, simply staring into the sky. There was no Dark Mark over any of the four homes. One was not needed with the evidence that the Dementors left behind.

Still, though, the warning was clear.

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In the end, victory was theirs, and jubilant Aurors were able to return to their families, having won a small but significant victory against the rising power of the Dark Lord. The end tally turned out to be Aurors 3, Death Eaters 0; to everyone's surprise, Nott had been captured and two of Voldemort's other servants lay dead, including Rabastan Lestrange. Remus hadn't meant to kill the younger Lestrange, but the Bone Breaking Curse had snapped Rabastan's neck in half and killed him instantly. Although there would be inevitable repercussions for killing a son of one of the Wizarding World's oldest families, he couldn't worry about that at the moment. Too much was changing, and too fast--and visions danced behind his eyes that would have frightened him if he understood what they meant.

As the next morning dawned, though, the world was abruptly reminded that Voldemort never forgot an insult and never forgave a defeat. The first Remus learned of it was through the Daily Prophet, and he hadn't believed it until he'd seen the truth with his own eyes.

Godric's Hollow lay in ruins, proving that the Dark Lord would not countenance defeat at all.

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