Promises Remembered

Promises Remembered

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Seven: Those Left Behind

The owls began arriving as dawn approached, coming one by one in the darkness. Many awoke to find an impatient beak tapping energetically on their hand/arm/foot/face/whatever appendage was accessible to the impetuous creature at the given moment. Although the owls went to vastly different residences, they each bore an outwardly identical letter that was closed with the same seal: two clasped hands surrounded by a ring of fire and ice. Most did not recognize the seal, but some did.

Those few felt heartsick right away.

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The first to receive his letter was Remus J. Lupin, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had just woken up, and was making his way from his personal quarters to his adjoining office, padding across the cool floor with bare feet. He hadn't slept well the night before, which he suspected was caused, at least in part, by the Dementors' influence. It had been havoc trying to sort out the chaos after the Dementors' retreat at Dumbledore's funeral, and hours had passed before he and his friends had been able to sort out the guests and reunite the separated families involved. Many had tried to flee--quite hopelessly--and had nearly run into the Dementors' waiting arms.

Remus hadn't realized how close they had cut it until he'd listened to the survivors' stories. Even now, he shivered as he thought about the damage that almost a hundred Dementors could have wreaked upon so many innocents. But we won, the headmaster reminded himself quietly. Somehow, we won.

Four wizards had defeated nearly a hundred Dementors. Alone. They had stepped forward and acted without thinking; somehow they had managed to drive one hundred Dementors away from a feast of innocent souls. And they had nothing but their friendship to depend upon. But in the coldness and in the dark, it had been enough. Their friendship had been enough.

Remus was a quintessential history buff, and he knew without a doubt that nothing like that had ever happened before.

Wandering over to his desk, he was surprised to find Fawkes waiting for him. Remus hadn't seen the phoenix since Fawkes had arrived during Dumbledore's funeral, and he hadn't expected to for some time. While he was still trying to come to grips with his new relationship with the remarkable creature, Fawkes had spent the better part of a century with Dumbledore, and Remus knew that the old man's loss cut the phoenix deeply. The Order's new head had understood Fawkes' need to get away, especially in the face of Dumbledore's funeral--this was the first quiet period they had experienced since the Ministry's destruction...or at least it had been until the Dementors arrived.

Fawkes peered up at Remus from on top of the headmaster's desk, standing on the polished wooden surface instead of on his normal perch. His large eyes peered at Remus meaningfully. Only then did Remus notice the letter that lay in front of Fawkes' taloned feet.

Somehow, Remus found himself sitting down. He took a deep breath, trying to still his racing heart--how could something so simple reawaken all his grief? He had already mourned the great old wizard, had already felt torn up inside because of Dumbledore's death. Why was it that a simple letter could mean so much? With shaking hands, he broke the seal.

Dear Remus,

There are no words to say what needs to be said, especially to you, upon whom I have left such a burden. Yes, I know that Fawkes has chosen you. I daresay that the choice was inevitable, to those who knew to see. Forgive me if I speak in riddles. It is far too late for that.

As you know, I left no will. I have chosen to deal with my worldly possessions in another way, one that will perhaps keep safe what needs to be guarded. Riddles again, I know, but it is the truth. You, I think, will understand.

I've left you with far more than I would like, Remus, and for that I apologize. All I can say to ease the burden is that you are one of the strongest men I have ever known, and that there is no one I would trust more to lead the Order of the Phoenix. You have proved yourself far beyond what anyone could ever ask of you, and I am sure that you will face whatever the future brings with equal strength. You have always, Remus, been one of the wizards whom I am proudest to say I taught.

But platitudes aside, I hope to leave you more than burdens. Enclosed are all the notes I have written about Hogwarts' Font of Power; they are a century's worth of study and guesswork. There are few resources on any Font, of course, and even fewer legends, but everything I was able to find out, I have left to you.

I have also left you my pensive; it should have arrived in your office by now, brought, I hope, by Fawkes, who long ago promised to do so. I urge to you 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. But use it how you will, Remus. I know you will do the right thing.

Your friend,

Albus Dumbledore

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The first owl landed right on the chest of a sleeping James Potter, who had been forced to return to St. Mungo's after the funeral. Needless to say, the hospital's staff had been horrified when they'd learned what he'd done; they didn't seem to understand that he hadn't had a choice. So they had poked and prodded until they'd assured themselves that James was all right--or at least no more damaged than he had been when he'd left that very morning.

"Oof!"

When James had finally fallen asleep, still growling angrily over the fact that he had to stay in the hospital, he certainly hadn't expected to wake up with an owl standing on his chest, pecking irritably at his nose. He'd hoped to wake up and see Lily's face, or even Harry's (else Sirius or Peter or Remus at a stretch), not a bloody owl. Snarling, he tried to shift out of the way, but the darn bird kept aiming for his nose--"Will you get off me?"

"Hoot."

In other words, not likely. Grabbing the owl in his right hand--it tried to squirm away immediately--James glanced around the room for help. Unfortunately, he was completely alone, except for the ruddy bird. Obviously, Lily and Harry were still at Grimmauld Place, where they'd been staying ever since Snape had alerted them to the fact that Voldemort was targeting Godric's Hollow. James snorted. Lucky them.

"Hoot!"

"All right already!" he growled, snatching the letter away from the owl's grasp. "Is this what you're so damn impatient about?"

Round eyes stared at him, but seeing the clasped hands surrounded by a ring of fire and ice made his blood run cold.

James ignored the owl, and began to read.

...There are dark days coming, James, darker than many know. Yet I know you will meet them, and my only regret is that I will not be there--not because I think you need help, but because I would spare you from having to deal with the mess my generation has left behind. But if wishes were broomsticks, mermaids would fly.

I can but leave you with something that has served me so well. Enclosed is a pocket watch that was enchanted by a friend of mine long ago. If you look at the face, you will notice that it is no normal watch; at any given moment, the watch will show the status of the Wizarding world. It has proved very useful to me, as I hope it will do for you.

There has been but twice in my life that the watch has read "Chance." The first was when I faced Grindelwald, and the second was in February of 1987, in the weeks before I became the Minister of Magic. As you can see, the name of "Chance" can be very misleading. Chance represents the fatal moments that can lead our world to ruin. Chance, in many ways, represents choice...

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Harry was surprised to find an owl flying circles around his head. From her cage, Hedwig hooted a greeting to the newcomer, making Harry squint in the semi-darkness. At least he thought it was an owl--without his glasses, it was nearly impossible to tell. After fumbling around for a moment (the bedside table was on the wrong side here at Grimmauld Place), he found his glasses and placed them on his face. It was hard to tell in the early morning light, bt there was no mistaking the tawny-coated owl that had started laps around his room.

The eleven-year-old frowned. "I think you've got the wrong room," he told the bird with authority. "Sirius' room is down the hall."

The owl gave him a bug eyed glare and landed on the bed in front of him. It held a letter in one outstretched claw. "Hoot."

"For me?" Harry asked with confusion.

The creature pecked at his arm irritably, so Harry reached out to accept the letter. He was surprised to see golden words written on the outside.

Harry Potter

The Green Room

12 Grimmauld Place

London

Confused, he broke the blue wax seal and opened the letter. Moments later, he was turning on the light to get a better look.

...And so I leave you the Sword of Gryffindor, which is yours by right. Once, it was a gift from Helga Hufflepuff, who loved your ancestor like a brother. After his death, Hufflepuff placed the sword in the Sorting Hat, to be kept there until a day when it would be needed by one of Gryffindor's descendants. When the sword emerged recently, I knew it was meant for you.

Use the sword well, Harry. Always remember that it was a gift of love and friendship. When all else fails except those two feelings, recall that fact: the Sword of Gryffindor will best serve those who are pure of motive and strong in heart...

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Hermione blinked. She'd been up all night, reading the new book that her parents had bought her as a welcome home present, A Wizarding History of the New World. It really was very interesting, despite what Ron had said about it (and he really wasn't a prat all the time, despite the way he tended to act), and she hadn't been able to put it down. Her parents would have overreacted if they learned she hadn't slept, so when she heard the light tapping noise on her bedroom door, Hermione dove under the covers, taking the book with her. Quickly, she thumbed off the flashlight she'd been using and held her breath.

Tap, tap.

It took her a long moment to realize that the sound wasn't coming from the door at all--it was coming from her window. Something was tapping against the glass. Cautiously, Hermione poked her head out from under the blankets.

There was an owl at her window.

Hermione blinked again and broke free of her blankets, rushing to throw the windows open. Her first thought was that something terrible had happened to Ron or Harry, but she'd just seen them yesterday at the funeral--

She didn't recognize the handwriting, but she got a sinking feeling in her heart.

I never had the privilege of knowing you myself, but Headmaster Lupin always speaks very highly of you...

Enclosed is a time-turner. In a world that might have been, you would have made good use of it, both for academic...and not so academic purposes. Now, I only caution you to use it with care--disastrous consequences can come from playing with time...

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Dear Molly,

...as a thank you for all you have done--the obvious and the not-so-obvious, I send you Trixie, a house elf who will serve you well. I know that you dislike charity, but look upon her as a gift to a dear friend. The future, I am sure, will keep you busy enough without all that housework...

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Arthur put an arm around his wife to still her quiet weeping. Losing friends was always difficult, but Dumbledore's death had hit them both hard. Once upon a time, he'd taught them both, and he'd been Molly's head of house during her last two years at Hogwarts, after Arthur had already left. He'd been a good man, and they both missed him desperately, especially given Arthur's new position in their world. Sighing, he began to read his own letter once more.

...I know that many have ridiculed your love for Muggles and their gadgets, but your acceptance does credit to 'our' world. If others were as tolerant and as open-minded as you, Arthur, many of the problems we now face might never have existed. So, I leave you a pair of Muggle "walkie-talkies," which will work when all Magical communication fails...

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In another room, a red-haired eleven year old was staring at his bundle incredulously. Slowly, he reached out to touch the shimmering object, and his face slowly split into a grin.

...This invisibility cloak once belonged to Alastor Moody, a famous Auror. "Mad-Eye" left the cloak with me before his death, asking that I give it to someone who would need it one day. That someone is you, Ronald Weasley, and I trust that you will use it as well as your best friend has employed his own. Enjoy the jokes in life, Ron, but remember the future, when darkness may also require the ability to sneak by unseen...

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I know that the both of you have utilized what Hogwarts' founders called the Room of Requirement many times. This room comes to those who need it, in whatever form is necessary. So far, you have only used the room as a convenient hiding place to save you from onerous professors, but there may come a day when the Room of Requirement is required for different purposes. When that day comes, I trust that the infamous Weasley twins will know were to go.

The piece of parchment behind this letter seems completely innocent, but a simple tear--of even one corner--will bring the room to you. Good luck in all your endeavors, be they great or small...

Fred looked up and watched the smile grow on his twin's face.

"So that's what that broom closet was..." George trailed off, understanding.

"Yeah, I was wondering where it got off to the next time we needed it."

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"I don't understand," Ginny whispered to herself. "I didn't even know him..."

She'd only met Albus Dumbledore once, and little Ginny Weasley didn't even think that the late Minister of Magic even knew who she was. Still--

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...

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"What are you doing here?" Lee hissed at the owl. "I told Fred and George not to send anything! Mum is going to kill me if she finds out--"

The letter, however, was not in a handwriting that he could recognize.
And with a start, Lee realized that this owl was not Errol, who he knew far too well. It dropped a package next to the letter on his bed.

"Hoot!"

...The package contains a Port Key. Although it looks like an innocent wristwatch, pressing the button on its right side will bring you immediately to Hogwarts when you most need to return...

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The wood was cool underneath Peter's fingers, smooth and beautiful. He'd never touched a wand like this one, never felt like power and confidence could be held in his hands. On his eleventh birthday, his parents had brought him to Ollivander's, and it had taken hours before the old wizard had found a wand to fit Peter. Even then, the wand had only emitted one meager and faint spark, but Peter had only shrugged, accepting the fact that he'd never be the great wizard that his father had been. Now, though, he felt a glow under his fingers, and Peter was becoming aware of a kind of power he'd been so sure that he would never touch.

Still gripping the wand, he lifted the letter once more, rereading its unbelievable contents. This wand once belonged to Julius Grindelwald, Dumbledore's letter told him. I took it after we dueled in April of 1945, though why I kept it, I do not know. Now, however, I believe that it is meant for you.

I remember that I once asked Ollivander about this very same wand. He was quite puzzled by it, in truth, and finally responded that this wand was made for great evil, and for great good...

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On Avalon, it was different. Bill sat alone in the darkness, having spent yet another nearly sleepless night. There would be students on the island soon, he knew, and he needed his rest--but he could not sleep, and the newly arrived owl was just another excuse not to try.

I cannot give you much, Bill, because there is little that will ease your pain. But I leave you a dreamcatcher, which will both shield you from your nightmares and record your dreams. I know, right now, that you would rather forget, but when the day comes that you are ready to face them, your dreams will be there for you to see...

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My dear friend, the letter had begun, but he hadn't wanted to read it at all. He had recognized the handwriting immediately, and had tried to scare the owl out of delivering it. He'd even gone so far as to hex the offensive beast, and the owl had fled--but it had left the damn letter. Reading it made his eyes cloud with tears that he had sworn he would not shed again.

I leave you with the key to Casa Serpente, which was enclosed in a mysterious package I received only a few weeks ago. Amazingly, the package was addressed to me by name, though the letter inside was dated May 7, 1000. It was from Rowena Ravenclaw, written, she said, after Salazar Slytherin's death. The key can only be used by a true son of the Slytherin House: a man who is both ambitious and powerful, yet still possesses courage and honor as well...

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Lily was sobbing.

To you, my child, I leave the Philosopher's Stone; there is no one else to whom I can trust its safekeeping. Several months ago, my friend Nicholas Flamel left the Stone in my care, because he feared that he was unable to protect it from Lord Voldemort, who has long wished for the immortality that the Stone can confer. I send it to you, though, because the Philosopher's Stone may very well have other uses that we never had the time to uncover. I hope that you and the Unicorn Group may succeed where I have not, and I trust you to destroy it if you cannot.

I hate to leave you with this burden, Lily, but there is no one whom I have come to trust more...

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Sirius was sitting quietly in the drawing room when the owl arrived, startling him out of his reverie. He hadn't slept that night, though he would swear up and down that he had, especially if Lily asked later. But although he'd laid down for a bit, he hadn't felt right, and Sirius had known that if Voldemort was going to make another try for the Potters, this would be the night. He'd already spitefully destroyed their home, forcing Lily and Harry to seek shelter elsewhere, but Sirius wouldn't put it beyond Voldemort to try to kill them now. Especially, he reminded himself, since we derailed his attempt with the Dementors. Thinking about the funeral still sent chills down Sirius' spine. Even though he hadn't been surprised by the fact that the Dark Lord had chosen Dumbledore's funeral to attack, he would never have expected that. Because of that, he hadn't slept. There were too many other possibilities to consider.

Besides, Sirius really didn't want to deal with the nightmares that exposure to so many Dementors would undoubtedly bring.

He'd been playing with his wand quietly, aimlessly, letting his mind drift and wander. He wasn't really thinking about the funeral in the wee hours of the morning, or even about Voldemort and the war. Sirius was simply thinking back, looking around the ornate drawing room and remembering the happier memories. Once, though it seemed so long ago and impossible to recall, he had been happy here. He remembered how Regulus used to sit in that chair and beg Andromeda to tell him a story--

The owl landed on the desk in front of him and reached out to peck Sirius' forehead without further ado.

"Hey!" His Auror's reflexes kept his head away from the bird even as Sirius glared at it. He shoved the owl away with his free hand, deciding (with more maturity than he would usually credit himself with having) not to point his wand at the feathery monster. "What did I ever do to you?"

"Hoot!" A pointy beak impacted with his knuckles, making Sirius yelp. Thinking fast, he checked to make sure that this wasn't a Hogwarts owl that he and his friends might have utilized in some innocent prank all those years ago--but no, it bore the markings of a standard Post Owl, and Sirius knew that he'd never gotten in a scuffle with one of those. Then he caught sight of the letter the owl gripped, and he shook his head ruefully.

"In a hurry, are you?"

Reaching out, Sirius took his letter, broke open the seal, and began to read.

Dear Sirius,

There are not words to say to you what needs to be said. You have taken a choice upon yourself that others would not make--and in doing so, you have chosen to walk down the loneliest of lonely roads. I admire you for that choice, Sirius, more than I can ever say, though I do regret that it was left to you to defeat an evil others have refused to even face.

I won't waste your time with useless words of advice. What can be said has already been done, and I believe that you have seen what lies in this future even more clearly than I. What I can leave you with is all the knowledge that I possess--and a journal written by a young Tom Marvolo Riddle as he transformed himself into Lord Voldemort.

This journal was stolen in April of 1981 by a courageous young man who had come to regret the choices he made. Before his death, this young man left the journal in my care. He knew that he was going to die, but he accepted the consequences of the road he had taken. This man was your brother, Sirius, and no matter what you think of him, he died as befitting a true Black--fighting for what he believed in.

In that, Regulus taught me a valuable lesson: even in the deepest darkness, there is still hope. God speed, Sirius. I wish you the best.

Albus Dumbledore

There were other gifts and other behests, of course, but the owls that made their deliveries in the wee hours of the morning were special. They traveled unnoticed by both sides in the war, leaving behind the last legacy of the greatest wizard of the previous age.

And as dawn broke, one wizard sat alone. He held a small journal in steady hands, and he glanced briefly at the ornate tapestry that hung on the far wall. A bitter smile creased his face, and then he rose. Slowly, he walked over to the open window to watch the sun rise, Tom Riddle's journal still held in his hand. He looked at it, and then studied the horizon. His features hardened.

"Let the darkness come."

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