Promises Remembered

Promises Remembered

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Nine: Daring to Dream

They'd taken to meeting in obscure places.

It was France this time, a nation whose language they both spoke, though Julia did so with far more skill than Sirius ever had. But then again, she'd always loved foreign languages, and Sirius had had French shoved down his none-too-willing throat by his overbearing mother. Surprisingly, he hadn't managed to forget all that he'd learned, and an hour spent waiting in a sidewalk café brushed a great deal of rust off of his forgotten skills.

His practiced eyes spotted Julia as soon as she entered the café, and he luxuriated in the ability to simply watch the woman he loved. Merlin knew, he saw her rarely enough--Julia was often out of the country, digging through Wizarding tombs in service of Voldemort's never-ending search for immortality and riches. Sirius could easily count the number of times that they had been able to be together, and much to his chagrin, that number wasn't high. Of course, he reflected wryly, that isn't all Julia's fault.

Neither of them should have been there, of course, but they had to see one another and both had much to hide. For Julia, the risk was actually less, despite her true role in the matter. Acting as Voldemort's agent, she was supposed to spend time with Sirius, regaining his trust until she could deliver him into the Dark Lord's eager hands. The fact that she did not ever intend to do so had little bearing on their situation; until Voldemort became aware of that, she would continue to play the part.

Sirius' situation was a bit more complicated. The number of people who knew that Julia Malfoy had turned spy for the Order of the Phoenix could be counted on two hands, but the number who suspected that she was a Death Eater was extremely high. Although Sirius might not have given a damn about his own reputation, in the current political climate, he had to. Like it or not, he'd emerged as one of the Order's leaders--and the light side's champions--after the destruction no the Ministry of Magic, and if reporters like Rita Skeeter could even hint that he might be on the other side, their cause could be damaged. Not fatally, of course, but deeply enough that he didn't want to face the consequences.

But he left off the darker thoughts and studied Julia as she approached. Dark circles framed her eyes, and she looked more tired than he'd seen her in years--the last time he remembered her being this was back when he'd been a rookie Auror and she'd been studying for the N.E.W.T.s. Her blonde hair was a little longer than she usually liked to keep it, too, which was another sign that she'd been very busy and hadn't taken the time to have it cut. Or even to cast a Hair Trimming Charm...but that was Julia. When she concentrated on a project, nearly every thing else went by the wayside, appearances included. Frankly, Sirius was slightly surprised that she'd remembered to put on Muggle clothing for this meeting, but he wasn't surprised to note the pad she was carrying around in case she had a sudden thought that she simply had to write down. After all, he mused, "if you don't write it down, it never happened." Sirius resisted the urge to laugh. Even worn-out and slightly unkempt, she was still beautiful.

"Bonjour," Julia greeted him, slipping into the seat across from him with a smile. "You're early."

A grin flashed across his face. "Institutional paranoia."

She chuckled, making Sirius get the sudden urge to crush her into his arms and kiss her for all he was worth, but he restrained himself. Later, he promised himself. But the temptation was strong, despite the need to maintain their covers and not attract attention. Oh, it was strong--and in her dancing gray eyes, he saw the same desire. Sirius snorted. At least he wasn't the only one who had been forced to become less impulsive over time.

"Really?" she teased him lightly.

"Yeah," Sirius' smile became rueful, and he shrugged quietly, trying to keep his voice light. "I guess we all have to grow up sometime."

"Even you?" Julia's voice was surprisingly sad.

"All of us," Sirius forced a half smile. "Especially now."

They were both quiet for a long moment, and for a moment, Sirius felt the oppressive pressure that he sometimes remembered that he was under. But Julia smiled, and one look was enough to tear his mind away from darker thoughts.

"Enough business." She reached across the table to grasp his hand in her own. "I'm starving. Let's eat."

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

"You sent for me, My Lord?"

Snape kept his voice level, and waited on his knees to be recognized. Voldemort had sent for him in broad daylight, which was unusual enough for the Dark Lord--powerful though he was, Voldemort was also a highly practical individual, which meant that he was aware of the restrictions that a teaching career placed upon his highest ranked spy. But this was July, and the summer holidays had always meant all former rules went out the window.

"Indeed I did." One long-fingered hand beckoned for Snape to rise. "Take a walk with me, Severus."

"Yes, My Lord." Snape stood gracefully and fell in a half step behind Voldemort, careful to stay to the Dark Lord's left. Keeping his expression attentive, he strode through the quiet corridors of Azkaban by his lord's side.

The island fortress was silent now, without its former population of suffering prisoners. Twenty-seven prisoners of war had escaped in the Order-led raid, and one Death Eater had died as well. Voldemort's furious retribution for such audacity had been obvious for all to see, and Snape knew that the destruction of the Ministry of Magic was not where it would end. Nor, however, had the Ministry attack even been the beginning. Before his Death Eaters had gone anywhere near the Ministry, Voldemort had carried out a bit of retaliation of his own. Every one of his servants had been punished for their role in the affair, even his favorites. Lucius Malfoy had suffered for not uncovering the fact that the attack on his home was meant to be a bluff, and Bellatrix Lestrange for allowing Azkaban to be breached in the first place. Everyone had paid--except for one.

Severus Snape had been the only Death Eater to escape the purge unscathed. Saving the Dark Lord's life had even brought him praise, which was as rare as kindness in Voldemort's service.

In the end, he'd learned that his actions were what had saved him from participating in the Ministry attack. That attack had been the Death Eaters' repayment, the only way Voldemort had given them to atone for their mistakes. Thus, as the one individual who had not made a fool of himself in Azkaban, Snape had been excused.

"I have made a recent visit to the former Department of Mysteries," Voldemort said after several moments of silence, startling Snape out of his reverie.

"My Lord?"

"There, I retrieved a certain prophecy made in July of 1980." Suddenly, the Dark Lord stopped and skewered Snape with a red-eyed glare. Severus bowed his head, struggling not to hold his breath. The direct, high-pitched voice sent a shiver racing down his spine. "Do you know of this prophecy, Severus?"

"Yes, My Lord," he answered quickly, then hesitated. "But I only know of it, Master--not what it contains."

"Oh?" the other hissed.

Severus studied the floor, his heart pounding. Would the simple truth be enough? With Voldemort, it rarely was. "I know that it prophesied the birth of the one who can defeat you, My Lord, but I know not to whom it referred. I spoke to Sybil Trelaweny about it some years ago, but she has no memory of what she said."

A long moment of silence passed, in which the Death Eater tried not to brace himself too obviously.

"Look at me, Severus." He could not refuse, and reluctantly brought his head up to meet those fearful eyes. He knew what the Dark Lord's intentions were, of course--Snape was a student of Legilimency and knew the eye contact was an important aspect in what the uneducated called 'mind reading'. Given the circumstances, he could only be grateful that he was not lying, for attempting to lie to Voldemort was always a chancy proposition...even with his skills.

That knowledge, however, did not keep him from feeling like his soul was being read like an open book. Knowing that Voldemort could not actually read his thoughts did not help. It never did. Even Dementors could not make him feel so cold...

"You tell the truth," the cold voice concluded after a lifetime had passed. "Good."

All he could do was bow his head obediently. Still, he was walking on a narrow ledge, and one step to either side could mean instant death and doom.

"Trelaweny's knowledge no longer matters. I have the prophecy."

"That is excellent news, My Lord." Why did he feel like he was still stuck on that ledge? He should have felt relieved, but...

"Is it?"

Replying somehow did not seem to be the politic thing to do; instead, he waited. The silence stretched on, and Snape began to wonder if this was indeed a test. So many things were--and yet, his instincts told him that the Dark Lord was merely thinking, calculating. So he waited.

"It seems to me that I have become distracted lately, Severus," Voldemort said coldly. "I have done my enemies the courtesy of allowing Harry Potter to live for eleven years.

"The boy will not reach twelve."

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

"I've got good news."

James grinned at Lily as she walked into the room. He'd been exhausted by the funeral, Lily knew, and though he'd tried to play tough and claim that he didn't' need to return to St. Mungo's, the healer's care had definitely been good for him. Color had returned to his drawn face, and he looked the best she had seen him look in the twenty-six days since the Ministry's destruction.

"Really?" Lily sat down on the white-sheeted hospital bed, taking his hand in her own. "Tell me."

James' smile was contagious. "Martha says that they might have finally found a spell to fix my legs."

"Oh?" Her heart leapt. "Really?"

Martha Blackwood was the healer in charge of James' care. In fact, she was the St. Mungo's best, assigned to the task that had baffled every other witch and wizard at the hospital. There weren't many injuries that magical medicine could not heal, but James' condition had defied every spell that the healers could cast. Had he simply severed his spine, a single--if complicated--spell could heal it...yet none worked. To top it off, James claimed that he could feel pain in both his legs and his back--yet neither would respond to any sort of stimuli.

"She says that they've been doing some research and uncovered some new spells." James' face wrinkled hopefully. "I think this might be it."

"When will they try it?" They had already experienced so many might-have-beens that Lily was almost afraid to hope again--yet she had to, for James' sake, if not her own. There had to be a solution somewhere. There had to be a point when this would all end.

"In a few days," he replied. "Maybe as soon as Friday."

She squeezed his hand. "I hope it works, James."

"Me, too."

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

They walked along the coastline together, hand in hand and dressed in Muggle clothing. Both their respective sets of parents would have had apoplexies over that fact, but neither cared. Julia occasionally imagined that the collective Malfoy line was turning over in the grave because of her actions and her choices--but sometimes she wondered. All in all, who had proved to be the better Malfoy: her or Lucius? She supposed that her open attitude about Muggles and Muggleborns wouldn't earn her any points, but then again, not every Malfoy had been a monster. Yes, her family was ancient and held fast to its traditions, but they were not fools. Nor had they been pureblooded maniacs before Voldemort's rise. The Blacks, she reflected with a sideways glance at Sirius, had been, but even then, there were decent ones among them.

Sirius caught her watching his face and smiled roguishly. Moments like this where when one glance from him could make her forget all the painful years that had passed, and could make Julia think that she was a sixteen year old girl again, for whom love was all that mattered and her parents' approval her only worry.

Now her parents were dead, though, and she was hardly sixteen.

"You're thinking," her lover said quietly.

Despite herself, Julia chuckled. "It's not the first time, you realize."

"No?" he teased, squeezing his arm around her shoulder. Sirius' body was warm against hers, and Julia could have stayed there, safe and comfortable, for a lifetime if only the world would have let her.

"No." She rolled her eyes and tried to sound cross, but it was downright impossible to do so. They laughed quietly together, luxuriating in the moment of peace that neither knew could or would last...but both were willing to pretend.

"So, what are you thinking about?"

"The past," Julia replied honestly. "About how much things have changed."

"Yes." His voice was suddenly grave. "They have."

She swallowed, hearing the emotion and strain behind his words. "Being with you, being like this...it makes me feel almost like we did before, when the world wasn't like this. When we hadn't had to spend ten years apart and didn't have to be on opposite sides."

"Me too," Sirius admitted after a slight hesitation. "I wish..."

He trailed off into the silence, and she knew what he meant. I wish that it didn't have to be like this. I wish that we didn't have to lie and we didn't have to hide. I wish that I could give you back the ten years you spent in hell, and restore to you the innocence that you lost along the way. I wish that everything was different. I wish that we weren't at war. I wish that I could tell you that everything will be okay, and have it not be a lie. Julia sighed.

"Yeah," she whispered. "I wish."

Sirius' arm tightening around her was his only response and they walked a little further in silence, not needing to speak. They spent so little time together these days, separated by more than just lies. Though Julia understood the necessity of that separation, it still tore her up inside. Every time she saw Sirius, the shadows had deepened in his eyes, and the burden he carried grew. The silence lengthened, though, and she knew that she ought to say something, but was unable to find the words. She loved him more than simple feelings could express, and wished, somehow, that she could make things better for him. But there was no way to say what she meant.

"How are you?" she asked instead.

"Fine," Sirius answered immediately.

"Bullshit," Julia replied softly.

She felt him tense through his arm around her shoulders, and almost regretted calling his bluff. But there was no mistaking how automatic his reply was; it was too casual, too easily given. Julia knew Sirius too well to fall for that; even after ten years apart and hardly a year back together--in which they hardly saw one another at all--she could hear the lie. She hoped, though, that his temper wouldn't get in the way of his better sense, and keep him from understanding that she asked because she cared. Not because she wanted to pry.

After a long moment, Sirius relaxed. "I'm dealing with it," he relented.

"You sound so unhappy."

"It's not that I'm unhappy, Julia, just that..." His head dropped as they walked, and she saw him study his feet as he tried to sort out his thoughts. "It's not like I'd expect it to be. I mean, this isn't anything I expected at all, but I feel so...empty."

"Empty?"

"I'm ten years out of my time. Sometimes, I'm so busy, so involved, that I forget how everything has changed, how the world I left is not the one that I'm living in now. But in moments like these, when I'm trying so hard to be the man that I once was, I remember..." Sirius trailed off, and Julia squeezed her arm tighter around his waist. "And I realize that I'm not. I'm not the same man that I was ten years ago. I can't be."

"Sirius--"

"No. I've changed. I've become focused, colder, and something dark lives inside me now that I can't even begin to define. These past months, I've tried so hard to be the person that I was, tried to pretend that the emptiness, that the pain, would pass. Now, though, I realize that's permanent. It's no longer something from which I can hide; this change, these differences, are a part of me. And I'm beginning to think that I shouldn't be the old me. More importantly, I can't afford to."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not blind, Julia," Sirius responded without hesitation. "No matter how much I try to deny it, I know where this has to end. For better or worse, I made a choice. And when the end comes, I know who is going to stand face to face with Voldemort."

Her throat was impossibly tight. This was the stuff that nightmares were made of. "You."

He nodded silently, and for several steps they walked without speaking, each caught up in their own thoughts. For a moment, Julia was tempted to argue with his matter-of-fact assessment of the situation, but she knew that doing so would be pointless. No matter what they both wished for, Sirius had spoken the truth.

"So there you have it. The new and 'improved' Sirius Black." His face twisted into a wry smile.

"I don't find you that different," Julia replied quietly, wishing that his voice didn't lurk so close to bitterness.

"No?"

"No. Not, at least, in the ways that matter to me." She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I love you, Sirius. And it'll take a lot more than ten years apart and a few differences to change that."

"I love you, too," Sirius said quietly. He seemed almost relieved, but Julia saw a little of that frightening distance fade from his eyes. Yes, he had changed, she knew. Even if she didn't care, she knew--and Julia suddenly suspected those deep differences would matter very much to someone else...someone who still didn't want to recognize Sirius for what he had become.

Somehow, that thought made the uncertain future appear a little less dark.

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