Promises Remembered

RobinLady

Story Summary:
Sirius is ten years out of his time. Remus is having disturbing visions. James is struggling to hold the world together. Peter is trying to learn how to live without lies. In the sequel to "Promises Unbroken," the Wizarding World remains on the edge of disaster, and Voldemort seeks final victory.

Chapter 06

Chapter Summary:
Sirius Black remained the Secret Keeper and everything he feared came to pass. Ten years later, James and Lily live, Harry attends Hogwarts, and Voldemort remains…welcome to a different world where nothing is as it seems.
Posted:
01/09/2004
Hits:
1,651
Author's Note:
This is the sequel to Promises Unbroken. If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever. Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well. That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come.

Promises Remembered

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Six: Footsteps on a Dark Road

He'd asked to be buried at Hogwarts.

Although there was no precedent for it, not a soul argued. No one had ever been buried on the school grounds--though legend did claim that Gryffindor himself lay at rest beneath the great lake. But that was only legend, and until Albus Dumbledore's death, the tradition had never been broken. Hogwarts, after all, was a place for growth and learning, not for death. Dumbledore, however, was different, and no one dared to refuse his final request. Not even the school governors, Lucius Malfoy included, raised a single voice in opposition, leaving the decision with Hogwarts' current headmaster. Maybe they had expected him to argue, but Remus hadn't hesitated.

Oftentimes, he wondered if this was the only true request Dumbledore had made in his long life. The former headmaster and Minister of Magic had spent a lifetime giving to others, fulfilling their dreams--did you ever have time for your own dreams, old man? Remus wondered silently. Or were you too busy with the rest of us? He closed his eyes against the bright sunlight, trying to pretend that it was the wind that brought tears to his eyes. Or maybe he wasn't. Remus didn't particularly care if anyone saw him cry; though he wasn't a crier by nature, Dumbledore had been more than his headmaster. The famous wizard had been more than a friend to him, too: he'd been a mentor and a guide, who'd given Remus far more than a chance at education. Albus Dumbledore had almost single-handedly made Remus' life possible.

If not for him, I'd probably be locked up in a cage somewhere, or living in the wilds of Merlin only knows where. I wouldn't have come to Hogwarts. I wouldn't have met the best friends I've ever known. I wouldn't have a job, and I wouldn't even have a life worth living. The only good thing is that I wouldn't be a part of this war, Remus thought cynically. But then he smiled slightly to himself. Even the war, even with its long years and mess of bloodshed, was worth it. He would vastly prefer to be a part of the war than an "innocent" bystander.

If there even would be innocent bystanders by the time that this was over.

Next to him, Sirius touched Remus' left elbow. The Auror's voice was subdued. "They're here."

Remus turned his head to watch as six figures made their way up the small hill, walking slowly and formally. A cynical part of the headmaster's mind reflected that it was the most sedate he had ever seen those six children act--but he knew that was wrong. They understood. Contrary to what many others thought, those six would.

Dumbledore had asked for a quiet funeral. He hadn't wanted it to be a large and important affair--"No ruffles or flourishes," his brother had said in a heavy voice. That was Aberforth Dumbledore, whom Remus only met once but had mysteriously shown up before anyone could find the younger Dumbledore to notify him of Albus' death. Aberforth had left most of the arrangements to Remus, but he'd put his foot down in a surprisingly gentle manner. Where many wanted to give Albus Dumbledore the type of send off they felt he deserved, Aberforth wanted his brother to have the type of funeral that he would have enjoyed. Understanding, Remus had taken the younger Dumbledore's side, and they'd followed the former headmaster's instructions to the letter.

Dumbledore had wanted simple: he got simple. Although there was actually a larger crowd than Remus had anticipated, the funeral itself was to be excruciatingly simple. Few would speak. Fewer still might understand, but Remus did. Dumbledore had also made a less expected request, but Remus had granted that, too. He'd asked for Harry Potter, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Lee Jordan to be his pallbearers. He'd asked for the Misfits. The Magical and Invisible Society For Instigating Trouble. Terrors, all of them, especially where rule-breaking and general sneakiness were concerned.

And Remus knew that Dumbledore would have dearly loved to be their headmaster. The six children had been slightly confused, but they'd agreed readily. They'd all met Dumbledore, of course, but none had been especially close to him--even Harry, whose parents had been deeply involved with the Order for years. Remus, however, had explained a little bit, and had shown them the letter that Dumbledore had left for them (that he hadn't read and never would), and the Misfits had agreed. It had taken some strenuous convincing to persuade Mrs. Jordan to allow Lee to attend the funeral at all, but Remus had finally talked her into it. Lee walked stone-faced with his fellow Gryffindors, with one light hand guiding the coffin that floated between them.

A sorrowful note filled the air.

Fawkes had arrived. The red and gold phoenix swooped down from the sky, singing a heart-chilling song of sadness and grief. Remus hadn't seen him since the night before, but he understood why. Fawkes had been with Dumbledore for countless years, and he, too, had the need to mourn. Some might have wondered if a phoenix could really mourn, but the silver tears glowed in the corners of Fawkes' eyes left no room to doubt.

Fawkes swept down and landed gently upon the polished wood coffin. Dumbledore's body had been badly abused by both Death Eaters and by the Ministry's falling wreckage; the coffin was closed, as per Aberforth's request. Magic could have restored the old Minister's looks, but they had all agreed that this was for the best. Dumbledore had never been ashamed to show his scars--he'd once said that they could be useful, in the end--so they changed nothing.

Remus sucked in a deep breath, wondering if they should have left the coffin open after all. Aberforth had been right when he'd pointed out that there would be many children present, and there was no need to scare them--but Remus was also aware of the thousands of other faces watching. He knew that those ordinary witches and wizards had faced their own fears to come to the funeral, braving the possibility of attack by Voldemort because they loved and respected Albus Dumbledore. Many of them would not have fully comprehended the Minister's injuries, or what they meant--perhaps he should have insisted that the coffin be open to drive the message home. He fought, Remus wanted to scream at them. You should too.

But that was only his bitter grief speaking, and he knew that he should ignore it. Remus closed his eyes once more, willing the darker thoughts to leave him. Let me remember Dumbledore as he would want me to. Not with bitterness. He opened his eyes again. The Misfits had reached the waiting gravesite. It was time.

To his right, a figure in a wheelchair moved forward. There hadn't been time to improve much upon the Muggle device, though those wheels would gladly take to any terrain and required no effort to move. Simply put, there weren't many wizards in history who had become paralyzed from the waist down; usually, there wasn't any physical injury that magic couldn't fix, or lost body parts that magic couldn't help replace. James Potter, however, had remained a mystery to the healers at St. Mungo's, and although they had called upon experts from across the world, Dumbledore's successor was still confined to a Muggle wheelchair. To do James credit, it had hardly stopped him from acting normal, even though he'd have to return to the hospital for more tests immediately following the ceremony.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming," James began quietly. His voice carried easily; the wind had dropped, now, and the bright sun was sliding behind a cloud. A shame, Remus thought quietly, with his eyes still on his friend. Dumbledore would have preferred the sun. But James was continuing, and Remus knew that the grief in his voice was real. Unconsciously, Remus reached out and put an arm around Lily, who stood to his right now that James was gone. He wasn't usually the demonstrative type, but Lily was his friend, and she was taking this hard.

"We come together today in a common cause. I don't think that I need to tell anyone what that is." James was speaking without notes; what he said, he meant from the heart. "But instead of mourning today, we ought to celebrate--and we ought to all be thankful that we were privileged enough to know Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I ask, therefore, that we remember him as he was--not as others wished him to be.

"He was a strong man, and a great one. He sacrificed much for all of us, but he did not do so out of a desire to be a hero. Albus Dumbledore was, first and foremost, human. And he believed that people should have the right to choose their own paths, no matter what those should become. And he fought for that right. Thus, we come together today not only to mourn, but also to honor his sacrifice.

"Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore died so that others might live. There is no higher calling.

"If he was here, Albus would remind us that all is not lost. There are dark days before us, yes, but courage is measured in how we meet that darkness--and I, for one, intend to do so as Albus Dumbledore did: openly and with my head held high. There is much to lose, but there is also much to gain. And I will not forget the man who fought for so long, and asked for so little." James suddenly drew a deep breath in, and Remus saw him swallow tears back.

"I will remember."

The silence was broken by a witch's sob, and Remus turned his head slightly to focus on Auriga Sinistra. The normally quiet Astronomy professor had tears running down her face, and she leaned heavily into the shoulder of her younger brother as she cried. Against Remus, Lily shook slightly and then she stepped forward.

She continued walking, silently and woodenly, until she stood directly in front of the polished oak coffin. The Misfits stepped aside to allow her to pass, and Lily laid her hands upon the coffin. Her voice was soft, yet carried to everyone's ears, though she never tore her eyes away from the coffin.

"And so we bring his body to Hogwarts, the place he always called home. We shall leave him here with our love, so that he might watch over generations of Hogwarts students to come." Her voice choked up, and Remus saw her eyes close briefly before she could continue.

"Goodbye, Albus Dumbledore. May you always rest in peace."

The crowd echoed her whisper. "Rest in peace."

Slowly, the coffin drifted away from Lily's hands, sinking downwards until it rested in the open grave.

The spells were already in place. As soon as the coffin came to rest, the dirt and grass around the grave began to move. Under the mourners' watchful eyes, the grave slowly filled itself. No one spoke; this was an ancient part of a Wizarding burial ceremony. Moments later, the grass on the hill was unmarred, leaving only a white marble headstone to mark the grave.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

84th Headmaster

25 June 1841 - 19 June 1992

He'd asked for it to read so. Dumbledore had wanted no list of his achievements, no litany of his awards. He hadn't even wanted them to put down that he had been the Minister of Magic--his instructions had been very clear on that point. Dumbledore had only wanted them to remember that he had been the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry--the most important thing he'd ever done.

Other people began to move forward, placing flowers on the grave. Some of them spoke quietly, saying goodbye in their own ways, but as Remus watched them, he couldn't help feeling a little bitter. By rights, there should have been another grave by Dumbledore's side.

But Arabella Figg had been buried without ceremony, and with only her remaining family present. Her brother and his family had already left the country, headed for America and away from the war. They were finished, Theodore Figg had told James angrily. The Figgs would have no part in this; not any more. They would not lose any more family members to a war that could not be won. So they had run away, abandoning the cause that Arabella Figg had died to protect. Remus didn't even know where her remains lay.

He stepped forward, pushing those angry thoughts aside. Remus had already said his goodbyes to Dumbledore, but he suddenly felt the need to do so again. He would miss the old man dearly, and he headed over to where Lily clung desperately to James' hand. She was taking this harder than anyone else, he knew, because of the close relationship she'd developed with Dumbledore during her years as his "secretary." Lily had come to view Dumbledore as a mentor and guide during that time, and she was deeply wounded by his death--and her inability to stop it. Suddenly, a cold breath of wind brushed against the back of his neck.

His head began to turn, but even Remus' werewolf-enhanced reflexes were too slow. He caught a glimpse of dark shadows out of the corner of his eye, but then a harsh hand fell upon his arm. "Dementors," Sirius rasped.

Sirius was in motion, and Remus was on his heels. As they split through the crowd, he noticed that others had realized, too. People were screaming and fleeing, with the memories of Voldemort's recent attacks fresh in everyone's mind. Dementors were swarming up the hill, and by the time Sirius had reached the forefront of the crowd, they were less than fifty yards away. Then Peter was at Remus' side, wand in hand.

What is Peter doing here?

"What do I do?" the smaller man asked.

"Pray," a fourth voice said.

It was James, whose wheelchair had flown up the slight incline without any protest or problems. Then again, when Sirius tinkered with a Muggle device, it was bound to fly at the very least--but there was no time for irrelevant thought. James, too, had his wand in hand, and though Remus couldn't remember grabbing his own, he felt the cool wood between his fingers. James' face was grim, and the wind was whipping at them all.

"James!" Lily's scream was almost lost in the wind, but when Remus turned to look at her, the crowd had carried her away.

The Dementors began to close.

Everyone was screaming. The crowd was rushing about madly, searching for any avenue of escape, but the Dementors were closing in on them quickly. Worse yet, the creatures were coming in on a broad line, and the ends of that line were creeping around to encircle the mourners before they could flee. All that stood in their path was four men, one of whom could not even stand--and they stood alone. Everyone else who would have been willing to fight had been caught in the panicked crowd, leaving four men to face almost a hundred Dementors alone. It was impossible, of course, but somehow, fate had placed the four of them on the front line.

Remus shivered, and suddenly he realized how very fast the Dementors were moving. It was getting so cold, so quickly--and he suddenly felt that it was hard to breathe, hard to think. He struggled to scrape up a happy thought, but suddenly his mind was blank--until James reached out and grabbed his elbow.

"Ready?" the wheelchair-bound Marauder asked. His voice was hoarse, but steady. Remus didn't trust himself to reply. He tried to nod, but found that his hands were shaking. Peter, to his right, was not faring much better.

The Dementors were closing fast.

"Now!" Sirius snapped. He sounded angry, and his voice was tight. But Remus couldn't blame him. Sirius had always hated being afraid.

Remus wrenched his mind away from his own fears. A happy thought, he told himself desperately. Think of something happy. The Dementors were coming closer, and his mind drew a terrifying blank. After what seemed like an eternity, the solution occurred to him, and it was so simple that Remus couldn't believe that he hadn't realized it before--Hogwarts. His school. His students. His home. He raised his wand, crying: "Expecto Patronum!"

"Expecto Patronum!" James' voice joined his own, and Sirius' came a split second later.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Peter took a moment longer, but his words still came out strong. "Expecto Patronum!"

Silver light flashed, and four Patronii rushed out towards the Dementors. Flying high above the others was Sirius' eagle, and next to that, Remus realized with a shock, was his own--but it was not the wolf as he remembered it. Once upon a time, he'd been surprised to learn that his Patronus was the wolf as he had always wished it could be: beautiful and peaceful and free--but his was the wolf no longer. A giant phoenix soared at the side of Sirius' eagle, and he knew it to be his own. In a strangely unsurprising way, the phoenix resembled Fawkes. It was the Order, Remus realized. The part of the Order that had become himself.

Peter's stag galloped alongside James' bounding lion, and the symbolism of both was clear. James had told Remus about Peter's first corporeal Patronus, and Remus wasn't surprised to see that its form hadn't changed. They rarely ever did. James', of course, was simple; his Patronus had always been the massive lion of Gryffindor. Together, they were one of the most beautiful sights Remus had ever seen: powerful, indestructible, and light. Within moments, the four Patronii began to spread apart to meet the Dementors' wide front.

And then they faltered.

Horrified, Remus watched the Dementors rush to meet the separated Patronii, slashing violently into their midst. He saw his phoenix rear up, struggling to over fly the score of Dementors that sought it out. For a short moment, he thought that the phoenix might avoid them, but then a mass of black shadows mobbed the Patronus and the silver light wavered. Remus saw one Dementor flee, but the others closed in--and suddenly, his phoenix was lost in darkness. Fear gnawed immediately at his soul, and Remus spun wildly to seek the fate of his friends' Patronii, hoping desperately that they had fared better than he.

Peter's stag lasted the longest, but even as Remus turned his head, it, too, disappeared into nothingness. They were lost.

The Dementors picked up speed, bolstered by their success if such creatures could feel at all. Confidently, they closed with the Marauders, and Remus began to feel very, very cold. The Dementors were close enough that he could hear their rattling breathing and his sensitive nose could smell their stench of decay--only fifty feet separated the four of them from doom. Every instinct within Remus screamed at him to flee, but a hurried glance over his shoulder told him that the mourners were still struggling to escape. Cold.

"We have to run!" Peter cried into the still-rising wind. Remus felt like they were caught in a monsoon.

"We can't!" he screamed back. Distantly, he noticed that his voice sounded high-pitched from fear, but there were innocents behind them who couldn't fight back. And there was no time.

Sirius grabbed Peter's arm. "Together!" the Auror shouted; he could hardly be heard over the howling wind. "We have to do it together!"

Together until the end. A chill ran down Remus' spine, and suddenly he was calm. Together. It was their only chance.

"EXPECTO PATORNUM!"

Four voices. Four wizards. One soul.

There was no hesitation. Together, they had always been strong. Although the world had tried to tear them apart more than once, the four of them had never broken. Despite hardships and time apart, they had always been together, and together there was no fear. Their friendship had always been greater than others had seen, even in the beginning. They had always been closer than others could understand. What we are is brothers, and as such we remain...

Bright light bathed the hill side in silver, and Remus was almost blinded by the suddenness and ferocity of this power. His wand shook slightly in his hand, and he was surprised to see that none of them had created a corporeal Patronus at all--instead, four silver lines of power emerged from their wands. But those lies were not made of mist; they were solid, and as Remus watched in amazement, the separate lines wound together, twisting around one another and speeding towards the Dementors. Suddenly, white light split the sky.

Remus blinked, unable to believe his eyes. He knew what he was seeing--there was no mistaking this--but all the same, it was impossible. He blinked again, then returned to staring at the four silver forms that the lines had become. They charged side by side, heading straight into the thick of the Dementors.

Moony.

Wormtail.

Padfoot.

Prongs.

They were connected, though, linked together. And a bright light surrounded them that Remus could not define. Before he could even draw a deep breath, though, their combined Patronii dove into the mass of Dementors. Once again, the creatures closed in on the Patronii, but then an explosion seemed to rock the world. And indeed the hill did shake--but this was no earthquake. Sheer power made Hogwarts tremble on that day. More than power was involved, however, and though many did not realize it, the world was given its first taste of something different that day. Something unexpected, because power alone could not make a hundred Dementors flee. It took something far greater than power to do so.

For if there was anything Dementors could not stand, it was love.

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