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 08

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:
1,515
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 Eight: A Black's Worst Nightmare

"Sirius!" Harry shouted as he rushed through the front hall. "There's someone at the door!"

During the attack on his childhood home, Harry and his mother had come to Grimmauld Place for safety and security. Now, with the destruction of Godric's Hollow, Sirius insisted that they stay, at least until a better solution could be found. Harry and his mum had spent most of the day before at St. Mungo's with his father and returned late, but now that it was morning, Harry had channeled all his restless energy into exploring the ancient Black home, a place he'd heard his parents speak of but had never seen. The mixture of elegance and antiquity at Grimmauld Place had helped distract Harry from recent events, which had started with Godric's Hollow's destruction and only gotten worse with the Dementor attack at Dumbledore's funeral. Consequently, he'd spent the morning wandering while his mother made political contacts and struggled to help his father piece the government back together.

Sirius' answer faded away somewhere between the room he was in upstairs and the front hall, so Harry made his way to the door. Opening it revealed a beautiful woman with silvery blonde hair and hard features; however, when she looked at Harry, an expression of extreme distaste crossed her face. She looked as if there was something awful smelling stuck underneath her nose, and Harry had the feeling that he was that something.

"Can I help you?" he asked cautiously, beginning to regret having opened the door at all. The witch looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn't quite place why.

Her pretty face twisted into a sneer. "No, Potter. I doubt you can."

Harry's jaw dropped open.

"Get out of my way, boy," she continued acidly. "I don't need to see the likes of you contaminating my family's home." She started to push the door open, and Harry's shock kept him rooted to the spot, staring. Never in his life had he experienced such bald-faced animosity, and he hadn't even done anything to deserve it! Abruptly, he was reminded of Draco Malfoy.

"Your manners have deteriorated, 'Cissa." A larger and stronger had stopped the door's motion, and Harry sensed Sirius' sudden presence behind him.

"Cousin," she responded stiffly.

Startled, Harry looked up at his godfather, but Sirius' face had tightened and his eyes were dark. He spoke formally, "What brings you to Grimmauld Place?"

"I require a word with you."

"And you begin by insulting my godson," Sirius replied flatly. "Such pettiness is beneath you, Narcissa. I expected better."

"Let us not compete over who has further dishonored our family," she replied archly. "And speaking of manners, will you leave me standing upon the doorstep like a common stranger, or will you invite me in?"

"I'm not in the practice of inviting Death Eaters in for tea."

She didn't even flinch. "I come as your family, not as your enemy." Something flashed in blue eyes that were identical to Sirius' own. "I am not here as a Malfoy, either. I come here as a Black."

"And neither would be welcome in my home." Sirius' chin came up; his eyes were cold steel as they met hers, as if he was daring the witch to disagree. He paused for a long moment, and then finally stepped aside. "But I'll not dishonor our family's older traditions by insulting you. Come in, cousin. I'll hear what you have to say."

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

They'd set up the Portkeys very carefully, minimizing error and synchronizing the timing perfectly. Although such precision was a trademark of their bloody business, twice the care went into setting up this rendezvous above all others. They couldn't afford mistakes this time. They couldn't afford discovery--or betrayal. Survival itself hung in the balance, and if something went wrong, all their efforts might very well turn out to be for nothing.

Simultaneously, twenty Auror Candidates materialized on Avalon. Portkeys had been delivered in secret to twenty-one, along with brutally honest letters describing the situation. The Portkeys would work for one individual and at one time only. Once the candidates had arrived there would be no turning back; they would not leave the training facility, save as Aurors. There was no need to describe the dangers inherent in their choice; the witches and wizards who received the Portkeys had already been members of Auror Training Class 4904 when the Ministry was destroyed. Although they had yet to arrive for Phase Two of the training cycle, each had completed Testing and Grounding, or the first phase. Theoretically, they all knew what they were getting into.

Bill Weasley scowled. He hadn't expected to be knee-deep in training at this early point in his career (usually, the most senior Aurors were responsible for the phase that the old timers unfondly called Hades' Quarter), but he was one of the trio of primary instructors for Phase Two. Normally, he would have been a junior instructor at his age--but the Aurors' numbers had been so far depleted that there were no junior instructors. He, Hestia Jones, and Kingsley Shacklebolt were Frank Longbottom's only three training cadre, and of the trio, only Hestia had any experience at all. Frank, of course, had been the Senior Candidate Instructor for two years before his capture, but their group was still greener than green.

He sighed and tried to wipe the irritated expression off of his face. Bill understood why he and Frank had both been delegated to training duty; they needed time to readjust to the Auror's lifestyle and get their feet back under them. Had anyone other than Sirius Black given them the assignment, Bill might have been tempted to refuse, but one simply couldn't look at Azkaban's longest-term prisoner and tell him that he didn't understand the emotional damage that Dementors and the Dark Lord's torturers could cause. Especially, Bill mused, when he's the man who faced Voldemort down and lived.

Looking out at the candidates, though made Bill feel old and out of place. Several of them were glancing around with ill-concealed curiosity, yet others were staring at the trio of primary instructors with apprehension. Aside from Kingsley, who'd been due for a stint as a junior instructor, not one of them had been intended to work with this class--but all five of the other Aurors who had been assigned to 4904 were dead.

Kingsley stepped forward, speaking in his deep bass voice. "Welcome to Avalon," he said. "You are Auror Candidate Class Forty-Nine-oh-Four, and you will either leave this facility as Aurors or not at all."

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

She took the tea without blinking, which Harry viewed as an amazing display of trust that did not really exist. Narcissa Malfoy, Sirius' cousin, sipped the tea calmly, eyeing Harry's godfather over the rim of her cup.

"Not worried about poison, cousin?" Sirius asked her, his tone more mocking than playful.

"You're far too much of a Gryffindor to indulge in such Slytherin behavior," she responded, sneering. Then Narcissa's blue eyes cut to Harry. "I don't suppose it's any use asking you to send the boy away."

"No. It's not."

She shrugged. "A pity."

"You aren't here to drink my tea," Sirius retorted coldly. Harry had never seen his godfather so brusque or so aloof, even the day he had come to Hogwarts with the news of the Ministry's destruction and Dumbledore's death. This seemed to be an extension of an age-old battle of wits; both parties were slipping into roles that they clearly knew well. But there was no friendliness in the exchange, no familiar banter or pleasantries. Instead there was icy formality and hatred on two very similar faces. "Get on with it."

"Very well." She sat back and took another slow sip of tea. "I bring you an offer."

"Do you now?" Sirius' black eyebrows rose, and he met her cool gaze with a scornful twitch of his lips.

Narcissa set her cup down in the saucer without reacting to the taunt, folding her hands primly in her lap. "The Dark Lord has decided to give you a final chance."

Startled, Harry took his eyes off of the woman who had to be Malfoy's mother to glance at his godfather. A final chance? he wondered. Something cold wormed its way into his gut, and he knew suddenly that no good would come of this. Sirius, however, did not respond--nor did he move, or even blink. Instead, he only stared, all traces of amusement having faded from his face. He was serious now, motionless and distant, giving nothing away. Finally, Narcissa continued, seemingly unfazed by the silence.

"Should you decide," she began precisely, "to enter the Dark Lord's service, all past transgressions will be forgiven. You will find, also, that the rewards our Lord gives to the loyal are most generous."

Again, Sirius was silent, and this time it seemed to unnerve her slightly. Long seconds ticked by.

"You would do well to accept, Sirius," she pressed. "You might well save your friends by making the right choice."

Sirius blinked. "No thanks," he finally replied. "I've heard what his promises are worth."

Narcissa's blue eyes flashed. "You would do well to consider the risks."

"I have, I assure you," Sirius replied gravely.

"Have you now?" she mocked him, returning his words from before.

"My choice will not change."

"I thought as much." Narcissa stood suddenly, glaring down at him and radiating power. "But remember, when the dark end comes, that the offer was made."

"You know," he said very softly, "I think that's the first sign of weakness I've ever seen him show."

Her face reddened immediately and her lips twitched into an angry snarl. "You are a fool," Narcissa replied furiously. "And you will die as such--alone and having forsaken your family's honor. Mark my words, cousin. You will pay for that."

She spun on her heel to leave, but stopped in her tracks as Sirius spoke again.

"It really irks you, doesn't it," he asked abruptly, "that the last Black went good?"

"You," she spat, her blue eyes on fire, "are not a Black."

"Not by your standards." Finally, Sirius stood, smiling grimly. "But I am a Black, and when we come to that dark end you speak of, you will know. Believe me, Narcissa, you will know."

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

Each Auror Candidate Section shared a small common room deep in the depths of Avalon. Looking around it made Tonks scowl; it wasn't as if space was at a premium here at the Auror's legendary training center. From what she'd seen, the opposite was rather the case--otherwise, there would have been no way that for all the candidates to have their own rooms, which they did. Even though those rooms were pitiably small, they housed only one trainee each, and Tonks wasn't a fool, despite what certain professors had said about her in the past. If they had the space to give each candidate their own room, there was certainly enough space for a bigger common room!

Crash.

"Ow!"

Every head in the room turned to stare at her, and Tonks blushed crimson. She'd tripped over an end table that she had completely missed noticing when she'd come into the room. It skittered across the room until the table came to rest against one of the couches, but no one other than Tonks noticed where it stopped. They were all too busy glaring at her. She swallowed. What an auspicious beginning.

"Uhh...hi." Tonks smiled sheepishly. "Sorry 'bout that."

Finally, one of the other witches smiled. She had blonde hair and green eyes, and Tonks swore that she recognized her from Hogwarts, but she couldn't place the finely-boned face.

"It's all right. No one liked that coffee table, anyway." Rising, the new witch held out a hand. "I'm Dana Lockhart. It's nice to meet you."

Tonks took the offered hand gratefully. "Nymphadora Tonks," she replied, then added hastily, "but everyone calls me Tonks."

"With a name like that, who wouldn't?" a third voice intruded, and Tonks didn't miss the irritated glance that Lockhart threw at the seated wizard. He didn't bother to rise, just flashed her a dazzling smile (with teeth that shiny, she knew they had to be charmed) and introduced himself. "Jason Clearwater."

"Hello," she replied, straining to be polite before she broke off from his gaze as soon as humanely possible.

Only then did Tonks notice the second wizard in the room; he was shorter than his companion, and built a little heavier than she would have expected an Auror candidate to be. However, unlike the others, this wizard did seem vaguely familiar, and Tonks had to fight the urge to frown. Maybe she'd sat next to him in one of the classes during Phase One. Auror's Potions, perhaps...? Frantically, she searched her mind for his name, because Tonks was positive that she'd partnered with him more than once--Got it!

"'Lo, Horace," she smiled with relief and trying to act casual. All the same, she was certain that she fooled no one.

"Hey, Tonks." The former Slytherin smiled at back her with a bit of hesitation. He seemed distinctly uncomfortable with their surroundings, especially with Jason Clearwater, who Tonks distantly recalled as another Slytherin, though several years younger than herself. "How are you?"

"Good." She shrugged, glancing around the room and counting heads once again. Tonks frowned. "Wait, I thought there were supposed to be five of us?"

"There are." Dana Lockhart shrugged artlessly. "Cornelia is composing herself."

Horace Smeltings snorted. "She had a bad run-in with Longbottom when she tried to use the fire to call home. He tore her up one side and back down again."

"Never seen someone so nasty," Lockhart commented idly. "Or so creatively talented at making someone feel absolutely horrible."

"She ought to join us shortly," Clearwater interjected. "Until then, I suggest you sit down and relax. Merlin knows, we'll probably need our energy later."

Tonks scowled at his knowledgeable tone, but she knew he was right. Her limbs already felt heavy from the day's workload and the absolute chaos of Phase Two (she now completely understood why they called it "Hades' Quarter"), and she knew that things would get far worse before they got any better.

She sat, and an uneasy silence followed.

Obviously, the other three candidates (plus the missing Cornelia) in the common room were in her section, but they weren't what Tonks had expected at all. She tried to study the others subtly, trying to think of a more unusual group, but she couldn't. She didn't know any of her companions well, but now that she had names to associate with the faces, she knew of them. Unconsciously, Tonks ran a hand through her (currently) shoulder length and dull brown hair. It was her natural color, something she'd inherited from her father, though she had been changing it for as long as she could remember. Tonks' features, however, were classic Black in their natural form. She snorted. Perhaps that's why I change my appearance so often.

"What's so funny?" Clearwater asked, making Tonks start. She was always doing that--letting her inner feelings show on the outside without meaning to.

"Nothing, really," she replied. "Just thinking."

"Speaking of thinking," Lockhart interjected, "what do you all think we'll be facing tonight?"

"Whatever it is, I hope it includes getting our wands back," Smeltings answered immediately, making the others nod in fervent agreement. One of the first things that the instructors had done was to seize all the candidates' wands, and they had been left without magic in that afternoon's chaos. After ten years of constant dependence upon her wand, Tonks found working without it extremely difficult, not to mention very unsettling.

"No kidding," she breathed. "That wasn't much fun."

Smeltings smiled crookedly. "Here's to hoping that, whatever we do, it doesn't include more of that."

"Yeah." Lockhart shuddered. "Today definitely goes down on my list of the top ten worst experiences of my life."

"Ten, hell!" Clearwater snorted. "Top three, at least."

Tonks grinned. Yeah, this falls right up there with meeting Aunt Narcissa for the first time, or listening to Aunt Bella swear up and down that she'd kill my father when I was three. Her family, she reflected with a certain amount of glee, certainly wouldn't approve of where she was now. "Well, look at it on the bright side," she remarked. "It can't get much worse."

"Sure it can't." Lockhart rolled her eyes. "Did you hear Longbottom? 'Lesson number one: life isn't fair.'"

"And this is only the first day," Smeltings added mournfully. "I'm sure that they don't waste all the tricks right off. There's bound to be worse to come."

"Obviously, though, it won't include calling home," Clearwater remarked dryly, and the foursome exchanged grins.

They'd known that security at Avalon was tight (hell, they didn't even know where Avalon was, though Tonks suspected that it was an island), but Cornelia Crouch had definitely underestimated the Aurors' obsession with secrecy. There were Wizarding fires on Avalon, of course, but as Crouch had discovered, that didn't exactly mean that candidates were welcome to their use.

"Someone probably ought to go drag her out of her misery," Lockhart commented. "After all, I'm sure we're all going to make stupid mistakes over the next two months, so we might as well get used to suffering together."

"There's no need," another voice came from the doorway. Cornelia Crouch stepped into the common room with a slight smile on her face, and she didn't trip over anything. Crouch was finely boned and had dark hard and eyes to match--she was almost the exact personification of what Tonks had spent her entire childhood wanting to look like. And to top it all off, she moved with a kind of grace that even a unicorn might envy. "I decided that being alone was not going to help me," she added. "Besides, I came to the same conclusion. We might as well get used to the fact that misery loves company."

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

The door clicked shut, and Harry stared at his godfather in the silence. For a long moment, Sirius stood completely still, seeming frozen and deep in thought. His handsome face was unreadable and his blue eyes were still dark, which made him . Finally, Sirius shook his head and turned away from the door. "Come on, kid. Let's find something more interesting to do."

Together, they walked down the front hall, quiet until Harry could stand the silence no longer.

"Sirius?" he asked. "Was that Draco Malfoy's mother?"

"Yes." Sirius shot him a sideways glance. "I suppose that's how you would think of her."

"And she's your cousin?" Harry tired to keep the disgust out of his voice, but was certain he failed. It wasn't like he thought less of Sirius because of the fact, but he'd always imagined that his godfather's family would be more like his own, with a legacy of fighting darkness and opposing evil. Still, every family had it's--

"Yes, she is." Sirius stopped. "My family is a very dark one, Harry," he explained. "Very old and very dark. I'm surprised that no one has told you that before. Most of my living relatives are involved in the war--on Voldemort's side. I was the second Auror ever, but there are many Death Eaters in the family."

Harry stared at him. "Who?"

"Other than 'Cissa? Bellatrix Lestrange, for one. She's Narcissa's older sister." His voice was completely level. "And my brother was."

"You have a brother?"

"Had." Sirius' voice went cold. "Regulus bought into the family creed. 'Toujours Pur', they say: 'Always Pure.' Powerful and pure and prejudiced, the Blacks, above the law and without morality. Regulus believed it too easily, and wanted to 'live up to our heritage'." His lips twisted into a bitter snarl. "But he wasn't a bad kid. He realized he was wrong, and tried to get out. That's when he died."

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly.

"So am I," his godfather replied softly, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "But the family you're born to isn't nearly as important as those you choose to call friends."

Harry frowned. "But you told her--"

"To remember that I am a Black?" Harry nodded. "Oh, I am. I've the power and the wealth and the connections to back them up, too, because my dear old Mum never did manage to disinherit me, no matter how hard she tried. But I'll use those resources to fight against darkness, not for it."

Only once before had Harry see his godfather so coolly confident and serious. He was accustomed to the laughing and happy man who Sirius usually was, despite the haunted look ten years in Voldemort's hands had left in his eyes. But there as more to Sirius Black than pranking and close friendships. There was something deeper and more powerful, and Harry was beginning to understand just what Sirius had meant earlier, what had angered and frightened Narcissa Malfoy so much.

Suddenly Sirius smiled. "Enough of this serious stuff," he said. "This is your summer holiday. Let's find something fun to do."

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

"Go, go, go, go!"

Organized chaos. Insanity. Pressure and intensity. They all had a purpose, despite the disorderly appearance of twenty candidates rushing in every which direction, harried and harassed by three instructors. Spells flashed in the air, washing the large room in a rainbow of colors. Most were completely harmless, the worst of them being a light Stinger Spell, but they, too, served a purpose. Chaos and pressure. Auror training had three basic tenants: Violence, Intensity, and Discipline. The first two the instructors could provide; the last the candidates would have to learn themselves.

BOOM.

"Get down!"

The noise was harmless, of course; it was only a simple charm. But the candidates dropped to the ground as if ordered to do so by the Dark Lord himself. They'd been pushed and pressured from the moment Kingsley had finished speaking, and three hours in, things were beginning to go insane. Bill remembered his own early days on Avalon with very little clarity--everything was a blur up until at least a month or two in, when he and his fellow candidates had finally settled into a routine. Until then, though, he hardly recalled any specifics. He only remembered chaos and wondering helplessly if anyone at all was in control of the disaster he'd chosen to be a part of--

But a subtle glance over his shoulder revealed the watchful eyes of Frank Longbottom, who Bill knew all too well was in perfect control of the situation. Two words from Frank would shut everything down. Auror training was meant to seem uncontrolled, but in truth it wasn't. Now, especially, the division couldn't afford anything to be out of control--not with a formerly ten month long training cycle trimmed down to only two. Two months. For a moment, Bill was staggered by the insanity of that decision, but he knew it was necessary.

Still, it made his job a lot harder.

Even as an instructor, though, he hardly had time to think, and he tore his mind off of the impossible task they'd been given. There was too much to do and too little time to do it in--which was the story of Auror training, of course--and as an instructor, he had to do it better and faster than anyone else. The craziness was an important part of the process, he knew; it sped reaction times and made the candidates no stranger to working under pressure...but it was crazy. And borderline out of control, even at the best of times.

A purple-lighted spell whizzed by his ear, and Bill ducked, pausing briefly to cast a dirty glare in Hestia's direction. Either she'd narrowly missed him on purpose (which he wouldn't put past her at all) or Hestia was falling below her normal high standards of control. But he could ask her later; now was the time for rapid spell work and confusion, which he could provide in spades.

"OUTSIDE!"

For such a quiet and mature man, Frank Longbottom could be unbelievably loud when he wanted to be. Until that bellow, Bill had thought of Kingsley Shacklebolt as the single loudest man he had ever met. Frank, however, had just drowned out three Senior Instructors' worth of shouts without any effort at all, and the twenty candidates scattered, fleeing towards the suddenly open doors. And he didn't even use a charm to do it! Grinning, Bill sent a wave of flashing light in their wake, which, although perfectly harmless and far above their heads, made several of the candidates jump.

Their reactions didn't indicate any particular lack of courage, though. The main reason for the jumpiness was that the candidates were wandless and had no way to fight back if they needed to. Upon examination, the situation didn't exactly seem fair for the trainees, but then again, it wasn't mean to be. This exercise was a lesson in resourcefulness and a very true example of how bad things could get when you didn't have magic to rely upon. One by one, the instructors were singling out individuals who'd been foolish enough to "die" and sending them elsewhere; as the candidates poured outside their numbers dropped to fifteen--there were a few cases of people simply wandering straight into the path of a spell that, if it had been real, would have been fatal. Or at least incapacitating. One of the candidates dared to object, but the others went quietly. The one rebel was silenced by Hestia's hostile glare, though he did walk away with a furious expression. But life wasn't pretty, and Auror training wasn't meant to be, either.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bill saw a slim young woman with mousy brown hair pause to pull up a chubbier man when he fell. Together, they took off running once more, until she tripped and the other had to pick her up off the ground.

Night was falling, and Bill grinned into the darkness. It was still light enough for him to see when a group of four students came together to his left, half-hidden under an outcropping of rock. They were clearly conspiring, which was good in that it showed an early attempt at teamwork--but the effort was bad because it wouldn't work. What the candidates didn't realize was that Training Field One had been designed to put the trainees at every disadvantage--and provide the instructors with ample cover, too.

Bill crept forward, moving from tree to tree. The spells that he and the others had laid while the candidates were eating dinner were activating now, showering the hapless trainees with sparks and deafening them with loud noises. There seemed to be a full-out attack coming from their rear, and almost all of them turned to glance apprehensively in that direction. Their distraction turned it into a golden opportunity for Bill, who jumped around a final tree and cast a spell at the trainees.

Within seconds, all four of them were covered in green paint.

One of them screamed, and Bill laughed aloud. Everything was going just fine.

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