Promises Remembered

Promises Remembered

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Results of Defiance

Apparating, it turned out, was not a good idea. It took less than a second to travel from Diagon Alley to Avalon; nevertheless, Sirius had ample time to experience a wide range of physical sensations, none of which were good. By the time he did reach the Aurors' island, his head was spinning dizzily and his stomach was attempting to fold in on itself. He staggered drunkenly, managing to forget where he was and what he was doing until his weight shifted onto his right leg and pain spiked up from the shattered knee.

Sirius caught himself and fought back the urge to scream. At least they were alone in the Apparation Center, and Bill Weasley knew all about pain.

"Do you need help?" the younger Auror asked quietly, too sensible to bother with pointless questions like 'are you okay?'. Sirius grimaced.

"Not yet," he replied with grim honesty. "But if we don't get me somewhere soon, I'm going to collapse when the Quick Heal wears off." And that was the understatement of the century.

"Right." Bill hauled the inner door open. "Let's go then."

Nodding, Sirius hobbled out into the sunlight, willing his right hand to stop before it could grab ahold of his throbbing left forearm. That wouldn't help, he knew, and it certainly wouldn't hide anything. For a moment, he considered trying to lengthen his sleeve to cover the Mark--but no. Sirius was far too drained to even attempt that simple spell, and his robes were far too tattered to stretch that far without one.

Besides, hiding would not change anything.

"I noticed that all four of the instructors came to Diagon Alley," he commented, mainly to distract himself from impending collapse. "Who'd you leave in charge?"

Bill's answering smile was lopsided. "Your cousin, actually."

"Oh?" Despite himself, Sirius felt his eyebrows rise. "How did she do?"

"Don't know yet," the other admitted. "But I suspect we'll find out soon."

Sirius grunted in acknowledgement, struggling to keep his concentration away from where it wanted to focus--where, in truth, he probably should have focused. But he didn't want to think about that, now. He couldn't. Not with the burning red Mark on his arm and the deeper black mark on his soul. For four years, he had lived with the knowledge that he would have to face this fate, but he had always hoped, prayed, that this day would never come. And now that it did, he felt empty and cold--tainted--inside. Sirius had known since the beginning, even if he had somehow encouraged himself to forget.

The old stone doors slid out of the way when Bill stepped forward, scraping back along the walls that they always appeared to be a part of. Those doors, as innocent and ancient as they looked, were one of the strongest security barriers that the island possessed. Having shielded the Primary Apparation Center since the day that Viviane Merlyn had brought the Aurors to Avalon, the great stone doors only permitted Aurors to pass--the acceptance by the doors was one of the cornerstones of graduating from Mentorship. But the doors would not allow any who had not been accepted to pass, even if she or he had managed to Apparate through Avalon's more subtle defenses. Throughout the centuries, there had been instances--Sirius thought six--where hapless intruders (and one foolish candidate) had been crushed to death by those doors. No one, in all of Avalon's old history, had ever made it past.

Hobbling through the opening, Sirius felt a momentary spike of fear. Could they--his breath caught painfully in his throat. He had long been an Auror, had even been the one to reopen the island six weeks before. But he had changed, now, had a darkness eating at him that had no place upon what Rowena Ravenclaw had once called the Isle of Light. And there was no lying to Avalon, he knew. Some places were simply magical, and like Hogwarts, the island always knew.

But Dark Mark or no, Sirius made it through the stone entrance unscathed.

Or, at least no more scathed than he had been on the other side. His right leg was trying to drag with every step; even the Quick Heal could no longer make it cooperate. Also, his chest was starting to burn with a sensation that was entirely different from the scratchy dryness in his throat caused by screaming. No, this pain came from not getting enough air in. His battered ribs had to be pressing against a lung or two, and that alone told Sirius that the magic shielding him was on the verge of falling apart.

Ten minutes, he thought to himself. Maybe fifteen.

He'd been too wrapped up in his own problems to notice the figures running up to them until the candidates had almost reached Bill, who had drifted several steps ahead. A good man, and he was in his element--Sirius had never been an instructor on Avalon, though he'd always wanted to. However, the years he'd spent in Azkaban had been the ones he would have otherwise spent teaching and Mentoring...and living. But he looked at the newcomers instead. Best not to think about that now.

A few faces were ones that he recognized, but Sirius only guessed at who most were through dizzy eyes. The majority of the candidates had put their wands away, but a few of them stared at him suspiciously. Several even frowned, looking at his battered state, but the glares bounced right off of Sirius without impact. He had bigger pains and problems than obnoxious little children.

Still, somehow his left arm had nestled against his chest, shielding the Mark from prying eyes. Maybe it was just instinct.

Andromeda's daughter jogged up to Bill. "I posted guards at both docks, and at all three Apparation Centers. We've also been patrolling the island at regular intervals, and I had a person by the fires in case anyone called."

"Well done." Bill smiled tiredly. "Thank you. We'll be forming work parties to help clean up Diagon Alley," he continued. "Sections One through Three will go. Section Four will remain here for security."

Excited and disappointed mumbling broke out, and the candidates exchanged curious glances as another half-dozen approached. Clearly, they were desperate for new information, but none dared ask until a sandy brown haired candidate blurted out:

"What about the Death Eaters?" he asked, his eyes glued to Sirius. A vague memory popped up, and the senior Auror almost squinted at the candidate before he caught himself. Clearwater, his mind finally reported. Ranked first in the class...with reservations. Only Frank Longbottom would put someone first despite that he so obviously dislikes them.

Bill, however, glanced over his shoulder at Sirius, making him try to force a smile in return. Sirius coughed, conscious of the stares and feeling his left arm throb. It was as if his arm was saying, You can't ignore me any more. Bastard.

"The Death Eaters are gone," he replied cautiously. "The alley is a mess, but Voldemort left."

Fifteen sets of wide eyes gaped at him, taking in his battered form and adding the pieces together. Within seconds, suspicion had been replaced by an intensity that seemed akin to awe--those stares were something that Sirius had been subjected to before, but would never grow comfortable with.

"But...how?" a girl asked.

His breath was coming short; Sirius had to struggle to control it. He shrugged stiffly. "We fought. He left."

"You won?" someone gasped. He didn't know who, didn't care. The world wavered. Sirius snorted.

"Nothing nearly so wonderful."

Confused candidates blinked; even through his dizziness, Sirius could see their hope. He felt cold. No one asked, but they continued to stare at him in dumb silence; only Bill looked at him with any sort of understanding, and there was compassion in his eyes that Sirius could not scrape up the energy to hate. His chest tightened.

Either face it now or hide from it forever.

Sirius forced his aching shoulders back. This was not the way he would have wanted to bare the darkness within his soul, but if he started hiding, he would never stop. Forgetting had never been an option, but he had managed to hide from the memories...until Voldemort had forced him to face his worst experiences and fears, forced him to do it not in the dark of Azkaban but in broad daylight and before the eyes of the world. Sirius hadn't realized that he had been holding his breath, and letting it out again made his chest twist in agony.

"It will come out in the papers soon enough," he made himself speak lightly, but refrained from shrugging again. That would have hurt too much.

Mouths started to open, but Sirius shook his head, cutting them off. It took a great effort to pull his left arm away from his chest--he'd rather hide in a hole and try to protect his battered soul. But darkness could not be avoided or ignored. It had to be fought.

The Mark was still bleeding, but Sirius refused to wipe it clean. He wasn't ready to touch it, and had a feeling that he wouldn't manage to stay conscious through doing so, anyway. The snake's eyes seemed to burn triumphantly at him, even when he did not look at it, both in his mind and in his soul. The skull was still wreathed in fresh blood, but that did not blur the image at all. Somehow, it seemed to only make the Mark stand out more. The black lines were stark against his pale skin, and though their cut was graceful, there was nothing beautiful about them. Especially for one who had fought them so hard.

He glanced at it for a moment, then brought his head up again. There was no need to look at something that already filled his mind.

But the others were still staring at the Mark, Bill included. Sirius knew that the Auror had been aware of what had happened (how could he not, with Diagon Alley and Rita Skeeter talking of little else?), but seeing it was something different. Still, Bill's face was impassive, unlike his students'. They were pale and sickened--and most important of all, frightened. None seemed able to speak an intelligent word, but Sirius knew that they deserved, needed, an explanation.

"Four years ago, Voldemort forced the Dark Mark upon me," Sirius said quietly, surprised at how level his voice sounded. "I was too weak to sufficiently resist."

He took a breath, and this time the burn was welcome. Pain helped him concentrate. "It has been buried since then." Every eye was still glued to the Mark. "He brought it out when we dueled. I broke his nose." The brief smile was nasty, and surprised even Sirius. "And a cheekbone or two."

"He ran after that." Bill's smile was no less nasty, but it was concerned.

The shock on the other faces indicated that they could not see what Bill did and what Sirius already knew. Five minutes? he asked himself clinically, knowing that would only hold true if he was lucky. His body wanted to fall; he was holding himself together with sheer willpower, letting the Quick Heal feed off of it to gain strength. Most people never recognized the close relationship between magic and will, but Sirius had instinctively discovered it at a young age. Training with Moody, one of the strongest men he'd ever met, had only taught him how to refine the relationship. Those had been hard lessons, but he needed them now.

And he knew his body well. Five minutes. No more. Sirius turned to Bill, pushing the candidates completely out of his mind.

"Let's go." He didn't have the breath to say more.

"Right." The instructor swung into motion. "Sections One through Three, make preparations for departure. Tonks, you're still in charge of Section Four. There will probably be full Aurors here soon. Defer to them when they arrive. Until then, keep security tight."

Sirius did not wait to hear the affirmative replies before he headed for the Main Villa, measuring the distance in his head and hoping that he wouldn't collapse before he got there. The bones in his knee were grinding against one another, and even with the Quick Heal, Sirius had to limp. Still, his escape from Azkaban had been far harder, and he was experienced with pain.

The doorway loomed ahead just as Sirius felt the spell begin to crack. Had it been a block of ice, one could have seen the cracks multiplying, spreading, reaching out. Sirius could only feel them building, but he knew they were there. Maybe Bill saw his dizziness or noticed his control fragmenting. The Auror rushed ahead to pull the door open, speaking the password quickly but calmly--he was an Auror, pure and simple; even worried, he never lost control. The door swung open, and Bill stepped through.

Sirius followed him, then stumbled coming through the entrance and barely caught himself on the doorframe. His vision swam, but he pushed himself off with an effort before Bill could reach a hand out to help. The Auror started to speak, but Sirius cut him off.

"I need to lie down." It was almost a gasp. The Quick Heal had stopped cracking.

Now it was crumbling.

Bill nodded, turned an immediate right, and opened the first door. "Here."

It was a nice suite, but Sirius never noticed it. Moving through the doorway, he collapsed. Sirius made a desperate grab for the wall with one hand, and a more desperate one for control of the spell, but he missed both by miles.

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Ginny looked funny in the old fashioned glasses, but she seemed completely at home. She was only eleven, hadn't even started Hogwarts yet, but looked much older with the glasses on and a look of stern concentration on her face. They were all stuck watching her, hoping for an answer and desperate to know what was happening outside. She frowned, but Ginny remained silent.

Fred groaned. "What I wouldn't give for the Map right now."

"Yeah." Ron sighed, scratching idly at his messy hair.

"It wouldn't do you any good, you know," Hermione pointed out sensibly. "The Marauder's Map only works for Hogwarts."

"Oh, don't spoil a good daydream with reality," George retorted crossly. But Fred chuckled.

"Hermione, I now dub you the Official Bubble Popper of the Magical and Invisible Society for Instigating Trouble," he said with a grin. Predictably, she bristled.

"It's not my fault that I'm the only one who thinks ahead," she said archly.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Hey, it's just a--"

"I think they're gone," Ginny said suddenly, cutting her brother off. Immediately, everyone turned to stare at her, holding their breath and hardly daring to hope. They had been stuck in that dirty and little hole for what felt like forever, and though they'd decided to stay safe and still, the Misfits were ready to leave. She was silent for a long moment before continuing.

"People are starting to move around more," Ginny explained, squinting. "And I don't see any more Death Eaters. I think it's over."

"Are you sure?" Harry demanded before he could stop himself.

Ginny scowled. "No."

"But if you don't see anyone, we can go, right?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Of course we can't," Hermione piped up immediately. "You heard what Harry said. We can't--

Harry put a hand on her arm to cut her off. "It won't be long, anyway," he pointed out. "And we don't...know what has happened. If we walk out and it isn't over..."

He definitely didn't need to finish that sentence. Even Ron, as impatient and bored as he was, nodded in agreement. They hadn't become the Magical and Invisible Society for Instigating Trouble (excepting Ginny, but she was well on her way to earning a place among them) for nothing, after all--every last one of them was extraordinarily talented at breaking rules, even Hermione. Usually, they wouldn't bat an eye at sneaking out of anywhere, but this was different. It had to be. Even for chronic troublemakers, there was too much to risk.

"Yeah," Fred finally breathed. "I hate--"

"Someone's coming." Again, Ginny interrupted.

"Who?" Ron demanded.

She did not answer. No one moved.

Finally, Ginny's face split into a grin. "It's Mum."

"Are you sure?" George demanded, making her throw him a cross look.

"Of course I'm sure," she retorted, slipping the glasses off and dropping them into a pocket. "I'm not an idiot, George. I know my own mum."

"Right." Unoffended, both twins squirmed upwards and popped the trap door open. Moments later, Harry heard Molly Weasley simultaneously gushing over the twins and demanding to know where the others were--

"We're here, Mum." Ginny again, looking innocent without the glasses on. She turned to Harry with a smile, and he boosted her out of the hole. He and Ron pushed Hermione up together, and if the other boy shoved her up with a little extra and annoyed relish, Harry pretended not to notice. Then two sets of laughing hands reached down for the boys, and Ron and Harry scrambled out of the darkness.

"--so worried about you--Percy gone in one direction and the six of you in the other. I was so worried that you'd run off and gotten in trouble like usual--"

"We were going to," Fred cut her off cheerfully.

George bobbed his head. "But Harry talked us out of it."

"Harry...?" Mrs. Weasley goggled, and Harry smiled lopsidedly. He hadn't meant it to keep them out of trouble (he wasn't very good at that, anyway), but Mrs. Weasley patted him on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you, dear."

"Uh, thanks, Mrs. Weasley," he mumbled. But even Percy was smart enough to see what she really meant: Mrs. Weasley didn't exactly come out and say 'I'm surprised that James Potter's son would have that much common sense,' but she didn't have to. Fortunately, Ron managed to distract everyone before his mum could launch into another tirade. He shot Percy a suspicious glare.

"Where were you?" Ron demanded.

"I got caught in Magical Menagerie, if you must know," the older Weasley brother retorted. "I ran into Mum when she started looking for you."

"How did you know about this hole, anyway?" Mrs. Weasley asked, heading off the sparks before they could begin to fly.

George smiled angelically. "Mum, we know everything about Diagon Alley."

"Everything," Fred echoed.

The Misfits (and Ginny) snickered. Percy scowled, but even Mrs. Weasley smiled with relief. She beamed. "I'm just glad that you're all safe and sound. Now, why don't we all go back to the Burrow--"

Someone or something dumped cold water on Harry's good mood. Suddenly, nothing was fun any more. "What about Sirius?"

Mrs. Weasley hesitated, biting her lip, and Harry's stomach seized up with fear.

"I'm not sure," she admitted quietly. "He left before I--"

"But he left? He's alive?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"Oh, of course he is. Don't you worry about that, dear." She tried to smile encouragingly, but Ron's open-mouthed gape cut her off.

"Alive? What about Vold--"

"Ron!"

"Sorry, Mum." He didn't look very sorry. "What about You-Know-Who?" Is he dead? Is it over?"

For a moment, they all dared to hope. Mrs. Weasley sighed. "No, I'm afraid not," she said quietly. "The Death Eaters left, but You-Know...he got away. I didn't see most of the duel. I was too far away."

"But Sirius is okay?" Harry didn't want to admit that he'd been terrified of the outcome--the letter that he'd received had told him both too much and too little. Why he had received that letter now, he did not know; perhaps it was mere coincidence, because no one could have seen this one coming.

"He's safe, Harry." She didn't, he noticed, say that Sirius was all right, but Harry supposed that this was the best he was going to get.

Ginny suddenly sniffed. "What's that smell?"

"Burning buildings," Percy replied. "The street outside is a disaster."

"And it's time for us to go," Mrs. Weasley interjected. "We don't belong here, and we'll only get in the Aurors' way."

"Aurors?" Hermione asked with interest.

"They've come to help clean up," Percy explained. "Even though it isn't really their place. Proper procedure dictates..."

"Oh, hush, Percy," Mrs. Weasley chuckled. "They don't need a lecture on the proper running of the Ministry of Magic now."

"Sorry, Mum."

Together, the group picked their way out of Quality Quidditch Supplies (which was surprisingly empty, and left Harry wondering where the owner had gone), and into the street. Immediately, Harry saw that Percy was right--it was a disaster. Smoldering debris was scattered all over the place, and further west along Diagon Alley, he could see a large group of people and even more smoke. There were cobblestones torn out of the road and Florean Fortescue's looked like a gutted out bomb crater out of a Muggle movie. There weren't many people at this end of the street, and those he could see were mostly bending over bodies. Some were crying quietly. One was screaming out her grief for the world to hear.

They were all staring.

Harry had never known how bad the smell of burning flesh was. To his right, he heard Hermione gag, and Ron looked positively green. His color matched that of the ugly Dark Mark floating arrogantly in the sky--had anyone else noticed it? The survivors seemed too traumatized to care. But the longer Harry looked at the Dark Mark, the more alive it seemed. Glowing eyes stared back at him, laughing. Laughing.

He blinked as Ginny grabbed his arm. "Come on," she said quietly, pulling Harry forward.

Nodding silently, he glanced upwards one last time. The illusion was gone, if it had been an illusion at all. He hoped so.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice was very small, and it made him turn his head. "Does it...?"

"Yeah." Ron was next to him now, and the trio followed the twins and Ginny mutely, glad, for once, that they had stayed out of trouble. Harry swallowed. There was so much death, so much destruction...he had not expected it to be like this.

Percy, behind Harry, sounded shocked when Ginny craned her head around for one last look back. "What are you doing?"

Her brown eyes met his. "I want to remember."

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

"What happened?" Julia asked, gesturing at her sister-in-law's leg. She had been waiting at Malfoy Manor for the attack to end, something that she was loathe to do--but had to. She had to know.

"Reductor Curse. Lupin." She sat down heavily, ruining one of the parlor's expensive chairs with her blood covered leg.

"Ouch." Julia was aware that she didn't sound overly sympathetic, but then again, did she ever? "How did the rest go?"

Narcissa's blue eyes darkened dangerously, contradicted only by her dangerous smile. "My darling cousin," she said acidly. "And his charming little friends."

"Oh?" Her heart was pounding so loudly that Julia was surprised that Narcissa didn't hear it. Of course, the question that she desperately wanted to ask was the one that she could not--Is he alive?

"Yes, oh," Narcissa snapped. "As usual, he managed to ruin everything." Then she smiled again. "Of course, it didn't go quite as well as they might have hoped."

"How many dead?" It was almost impossible to sound detached.

"Macnair only." She didn't exactly sound caring. "Several injuries."

"Not--?"

Without warning, Lucius swept into the room, cutting Julia off by default. She'd been reading her brother for as long as she'd been alive, and had actually come to Malfoy Manor to try her hand at it again--but something in his face made hackles rise along her spine. Years of flirting with danger had taught Julia to trust her instincts...and something was wrong.

Lucius completely ignored his wife; his gray eyes zeroed in on her. "We need to talk."

He never even stopped walking. Julia jumped to her feet. "Where?"

"My study. Now." Lucius strode out of the room, his usual languid and studiously bored movements nowhere to be found. Julia actually had to hurry to keep up with him, something she had never done in her life. But this was serious Lucius, not arrogant and aristocratic Lucius.

The walk to his study was a short one, and neither spoke. Ever polite and proper, Lucius held the door open for her, but there was no expression on his face. At his gesture, Julia sat, slightly wary of her brother in a way she had never felt before. She opened her mouth to speak, but Lucius got in first.

"Who did you tell, Julia?"

Her world went cold. "What?"

"I know it was you." His voice was surprisingly gentle. "You are the only one who knew soon enough to alert Lupin--and it was Lupin, wasn't it?"

Julia stared. Her thoughts were moving so slowly that she might have been swimming in lava. For a long moment, she couldn't speak a word, which Julia knew was as good as an admission of guilt, but she hadn't expected...She had known the risks, but hadn't thought it would come to this. Not like this.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Lucius," she managed, but her voice wavered, and they both knew it.

"Don't lie to me, Julia," he said quietly. "Whatever you do, don't lie to me."

Alarms were going off in her head. "Why would I lie to you?"

"I know you told someone about the Diagon Alley raid," her brother said evenly. "Merlin save me, I even know why. No one else has put the pieces together yet, but someone will soon enough, and by then it will be too late."

"Too late for what?" Every dream she'd ever had was lying in pieces beneath her feet, and now all that was left to see was how long she would survive. Knowing the Dark Lord, that would not be long.

Unless he had another purpose for her--Please God don't let me be used against Sirius, Julia thought desperately. I will not be bait for some trap. I would kill myself first.

"Too late to save you," Lucius responded, his pale eyes intense.

"What?"

Her older brother smiled slightly, but there was little happiness in the expression. "You might be a fool, Julia," he whispered, "but you're still my sister. If you leave now, you might have a chance."

Was he really...? Again, it took her impossibly long to find her voice. "But you..."

Julia couldn't bring herself to finish. You are the Dark Lord's right hand. One of the most ruthless people I have ever known. His most loyal follower after the insane Bellatrix Lestrange.

"So I am." There was no regret in his eyes--not that he would have let her see it, even if he did feel it. "But you are family, and if there is one thing that the Malfoys have always done, it is standing together."

Julia stared.

"Leave the country, sister. Leave, and don't look back. Say your goodbyes if you must, but hurry. I cannot delay discovery without incriminating myself."

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