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 23

Posted:
07/16/2004
Hits:
1,569
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 Twenty-Three: Heart, Body, Mind, and Soul

"Say your goodbyes if you must, but hurry." Lucius must have known that she had to, and must have known where she would go. But Julia would never really understand her brother, and his most recent actions proved it. So there she was, on the front step of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, coming to say goodbye.

Julia bit down on the heartache she felt. She had little right to feel sad, she knew--she was alive, and should be thankful enough for that. Swallowing, she raised her hand to knock on the old and ugly door. Once she left, there was no knowing how long it would be before she could come back. But she would return. Someday.

Somehow.

Her knock sounded hollow on the wood, as hollow as she felt. But it only took a few seconds before the door flew open, and she found herself staring at a messy-haired and green-eyed boy who Julia had never actually seen before, and only knew by name. However, he was the very image of James Potter, and the same age as her nephew, though by all reports, Harry was a lot less obnoxious. It must be Narcissa's influence, Julia thought before she could catch herself. And that was Old Blood thinking, she knew. Old prejudices and traditions. I guess I'm not as different as I thought.

But she was different. Julia had danced too close to the edge and lost, but she had danced on that edge. She hadn't taken the easy way out, the old way. She had dared to take chances--and had been caught in them--but she had tried. And now I pay the price for that failure.

"Can I help you?" Harry was looking at her suspiciously, and Julia didn't blame him.

"Hello." She swallowed. "I'm Julia Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" he echoed. Green eyes narrowed, and the look made Julia feel sick. Before this damn war, my family name would not have elicited that reaction. And now even a child associated Malfoys with evil.

"Yes. I'm looking for Sirius."

"He's not here," a new voice answered.

It was James, still capable of moving silently despite his handicap. He looked older than she'd ever seen him, and there were dark circles under his eyes. But it was his words that struck Julia the hardest--she had known that there wasn't much time, but she had counted on having a few minutes.

"Can you tell me where he is?" she asked quietly.

James shook his head. "I'm sorry." Then he hesitated. "Would you like to come in?"

"No. I'm on my way...out of the country," Julia replied sadly. "Just tell him I said goodbye."

His hazel eyes widened slightly, and James swallowed. "I'll tell him," he promised.

"Thanks." Why did she feel so heartbroken? Julia knew she would see Sirius again, but at times she feared that this would have been the last. She'd read a copy of the Daily Prophet on the way over, trying to clear her mind. It hadn't worked. Less than two hours after the raid, the Prophet had already run a blurb on it, along with a promise that a feature by Rita Skeeter was on the way. She felt cold. "I'd better be going."

"Good luck, Julia," he said as she turned away. She swallowed, and glanced back over her shoulder.

"Thanks, James," she whispered.

Neither stopped to consider the oddity of the situation. Two senior members of two of their world's oldest families, one of which was the lover of yet a third, were standing on a doorstep saying farewells because of a situation neither could control. Once, families like the Potters, the Malfoys, and the Blacks had been the most powerful in the world--and they had possessed high senses of honor and higher beliefs in public service. Now, though, a choice made through the dictates of honor was no longer respected--especially outside the confines of blood. The Fourteen Families were no longer connected; now they were disjointed, distant, and cutthroat. They had changed.

War had changed everything.

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

Blackness receded slowly. He heard voices.

"Well done, Ms. Lockhart," Bill was saying. "I've been trying to wake him for hours."

Throbbing from everywhere.

"Thank you, sir. Healing has been a hobby of mine since Hogwarts." Female voice.

His left forearm was burning.

"Well, then, stick around. All I know is field medicine."

He remembered why it burned, but didn't want to think about it.

"I'm far from an expert, sir."

Everything was still dark, but he forced himself to blink. That hurt. Everything hurt.

Weasley snorted. "You're closer than I am."

Light appeared at the edge of the blackness, and then full awareness struck him like a thunderbolt. A scream immediately rose in Sirius' chest, but he trapped it there, struggling to breathe through the pain. His body, no longer unconscious and relaxed, fought against his every effort to lay still and simply breathe; instead, it wanted to convulse and choke. Finally, though, the world came into focus.

Sirius wheezed. Immediately, it turned into a cough, and he tasted blood. He cursed.

"Glad to know you're alive," Bill said quietly. His attempt at cheer failed miserably, especially once Sirius was able to focus on his worried face. The senior Auror snorted.

"Right now, I think I'd rather be dead," he said wryly.

Bill frowned, and the candidate's eyes grew wide.

"I'm joking," Sirius amended quickly. Mostly.

"Right." The red-haired Auror seemed to read through Sirius' act, but for once Sirius did not mind. Bill had been in Azkaban--not for nearly as long as Sirius had, but long enough to understand. He knew pain. "We need to get you to a healer."

"Yeah." Even false bravado couldn't suffice here; Sirius felt like a wreck, and he was rather certain that he looked even worse. He started to run a quick mental inventory on his injuries, then immediately wished that he had not--his body's weak trembling reminded him of the journey from Azkaban to Hogwarts, of pushing broken bones to do things no wizard could have made them do. At least this time I could use a Quick Heal, he thought without much relief. Not like that helped him much now.

Bill was still talking. "We used to have a team of trained healers here on Avalon, but due to security concerns, we don't. Ms. Lockhart here is the best we've got."

"And I'm not nearly good enough," the blond-haired girl said promptly. "I only dabbled in healing with Madam Pomfrey. I always wanted to be an Auror."

"Get Pomfrey, then." His breath was growing short again, and Sirius felt his chest close tighter with every gasp.

"She's not an expert on anything like this, Sirius--" Bill tried.

He coughed, and it burned. Blackness crept in at the edges of his vision, but he forced it back. Again. "I know," Sirius said tightly. "But I trust her, and there aren't many healers I'd want on Avalon."

Bill started to speak, then his mouth snapped shut as he caught the meaning behind those words.

"Yeah." Sirius managed a mirthless smile. "I don't think I'll be leaving this island any time soon."

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

"What was that about, Dad?" Harry asked as the door clicked shut.

James sighed quietly. Julia's arrival had initially brought his frustration to a peak--even she had been able to act while he could not. Remus hadn't revealed how he'd known about the raid (Hagrid had contacted James, anyway, and there was no way that he could have known), but the moment Julia had shown up, James knew. Yes, she had acted...and had paid the price. In all likelihood, she would not live to see Sirius again.

He swallowed back the lump in his throat. "An old friend," he finally told his son, surprised at how true those words were.

"A friend?" Harry echoed dubiously. His son was as open-minded as any father could hope, James knew, but his perceptions had been colored by growing up during the war. They all had. "Is she related to Draco Malfoy?"

"She's his aunt. Lucius Malfoy's sister."

"And she's your friend?" Harry stared at him, making James suddenly feel sad. Have we really drawn lines so thick? he wanted to ask. But James knew the answer. However this war ended, their world would take a lot of healing before it could even resemble the one he had grown up in.

"Yes, a friend," he said quietly. "A friend from before the war."

And had his family been any different, James might have ended up arranged to marry someone like Julia Malfoy. Someone with all the advantages of the old families: wealth, beauty, power, and assumed nobility. Someone like Julia might have ended up as Harry's mother, instead of the vibrantly alive and fiery Muggleborn he had fallen in love with. Lily, who fit him in ways that Julia fit with Sirius--but whom, unlike his friend, he was lucky enough to share his life with.

For a long moment, James stared at the closed door in silence, wondering what might have been. He wasn't even sure who he was wondering for, Sirius or himself, but he had to wonder.

"Dad?" Harry's voice snapped James out of the realm of daydreams. Nightmares? What if the world was different?

"Yeah?"

"Why can't we go to Diagon Alley? I'm not a baby any more," his son said reasonably. "I can help, you know."

James sighed. No, Harry was growing up far too fast. "I know. But Diagon Alley is no place for children." Bitterly, he gestured at his own legs. "Or for invalids."

Lily was helping in Diagon Alley, leaving James home with Harry. The irony of the situation was incredible--how many times had he left her at home while he rushed off into danger? Now James knew how Lily must have felt, and he wasn't liking it one bit.

"I hate hiding," Harry said quietly.

"So do I, kid," James wheeled away from the door, and this time he didn't look back. "So do I."

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

Somehow or another, Dung Fletcher and Frank Longbottom had ended up working side by side. They were old friends, though Frank had been several years ahead of Dung through Avalon (despite the fact that Frank was four years younger), but at the moment, Dung hated the man. He knew exactly what Frank was going to ask. Had to ask. And the worst part about it was that Frank, unlike almost everyone else, had every right to ask. He hadn't run away.

He would ask. Eventually. At the moment, they could still speak normally.

"He knew we were coming," Frank commented casually, levitating a lamppost out of a crater in the street. A flick of Dung's wand secured it back into its original position, and Frank cast the Sealing Spell. They made a good team. "When we Apparated into Knockturn Alley, not exactly a place you would expect Aurors--they were waiting."

"Same with us," Dung grunted, choosing a shattered park bench as his next project. The first few hours had been spent digging victims out of the rubble and getting them medical attention, but now they were down to cleaning up the disaster Voldemort had created. It was a good thing that doing so required very little finesse, though; most of the rescuers were far too exhausted to manage anything harder. "Remus and I popped out of the Floo and got Mulciber, Flint, both Malfoys and Bellatrix Lestrange as a welcoming committee."

Frank mumbled a spell, returning a slinky-shaped trash can to its original form. "Well, I guess that's one thing."

"What?" He floated a park bench down from the roof of Gambol & Japes.

"Had it been me, and I knew we were coming, I'd have sent that group against the Aurors," Frank replied. "No offense intended, of course."

"None taken."

Together, they worked to right the collapsed wall of the second-hand robe shop, casting spells in companionable silence for some time. Meanwhile, Dung mulled the problem over in his head. Five experienced Death Eaters to face one ex-Auror and a Hogwarts headmaster who was not Dumbledore? It just didn't make sense. Dung had thought he and Remus were dead when he'd realized what they faced, but Remus had surprised him. The thought made the professor smile nastily. Remus surprised the Death Eaters, too. It would have made more sense if they hadn't been surprised...but they didn't expect Remus Lupin to fight like that, either. And that still left a far weaker group to face four fully trained Aurors. It didn't add up.

"I would have done that, too," he said after several moments. "Especially Mulciber and Flint. They'd have fared a lot better against the four of you."

"Undoubtedly. Though I guess it's some consolation, knowing that he doesn't know everything."

Dung shivered slightly as a cold breath of wind touched his spine. "Yeah," he said quietly. "But he knew enough."

"Too much." The wall was in place, and Dung cast the Sealing Spell while Frank shored up its structural integrity. He felt drained. So did Frank, though, judging from the way that the Auror didn't immediately pick out a new target to fix. Instead, he turned his tired brown eyes to look at Dung.

"How, though?" Frank asked idly, kicking a bit of debris with the toe of a booted foot. "From the time we found out to the time we acted couldn't have been more than ten minutes."

"And there are all of eight people who knew." Dung had been turning this one over in his head since the moment they'd arrived, and he knew that none of those people were traitors. "Nine, if you count the spy who told us."

"Ten, including Alice," Frank added.

Dung managed to smile. "Alice isn't exactly a security risk." He groaned. "But then again, neither are any of the others."

"Hmm." Frank's brow furrowed in concentration. "Eight I can think of: you, me, Remus, Alice, the three instructors from Avalon, and James, because he called me--who's number nine?"

"Hagrid. He contacted James for us."

"Damn."

"Yeah," the ex-Auror agreed. There was nothing else to be said on that subject; both knew that even if Hagrid had wanted to betray them, Voldemort would never take a half-wizard, half-giant. Besides which, Hagrid was one of the most loyal people Dung had ever met. He certainly wasn't a traitor.

Frank frowned. "That leaves the spy."

"But why tell us just to tell him we're coming?"

"Double cross?"

"But what's the point in that?" Dung wondered. He knew he'd have this same conversation the next time that the Inner Circle met (Merlin only knew when that would be, with Sirius such a mess), but it was nice to hear another opinion.

Frank shrugged. "A trap?"

"Didn't work very well, if so," Dung snorted.

"I'm not objecting." A smile flashed across the Auror's worn features. "Shall we get back to work?"

"Why not? It's not like I've got answers, anyway."

Frank slapped him on the shoulder. "Sometimes, it's enough to have the right questions, you know."

"Questions don't win the war."

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

Sirius had drifted in and out of consciousness while he waited for Bill to contact Poppy Pomfrey, and then find a way to bring her to the island. There were ways, of course, but it usually required two Aurors to bring one visitor to Avalon, and Sirius wasn't exactly in a position to help. But Bill had just smiled and said that he'd jury-rig the system, and send the candidates to Diagon Alley while he was at it.

So Sirius waited under the watchful eyes of Dana Lockhart, wishing that she'd just go away and equally glad that she did not. He'd have tried conversation if he hadn't felt so terrible--anything was better than waiting and thinking and feeling.

Sooner or later, though, he had to think about it, and in the empty silence Sirius attempted to reassemble the shattered pieces of his soul. Even though he had known this would come, he hadn't ever thought that it would be like this...and had tried desperately to forget it when every other nightmare reminded him that he had been tainted. "I own your heart, body, mind, and soul."

He shivered. Someone else might try to tell him that because he had fought the Mark, things were different. That it wasn't the same as having accepted it willingly. But no one else could feel the coldness at the edge of his consciousness, could describe the sensation that sharp and dark fingers had sunk into him and would not let go. At moments, he had the feeling that he was being watched, the kind of feeling from looking over a shoulder and finding that no one was there. Voldemort was testing the link, Sirius knew. The link that had been buried for four years, and had only now come to the surface.

"Are you all right?" Lockhart asked. Her voice was quiet, and she wasn't much like her obnoxious relative at all.

Sirius tried to nod, but that hurt too much. "As well as I can be," he replied.

"Madam Pomfrey should be here soon," she tried to reassure him, and the effort made him want to laugh. Instead, Sirius forced his eyes open.

"Why do you sit there and watch me?" he managed to ask through the heaviness resting on his chest.

"Sir?" She stared at him as if he'd gone insane.

Maybe he had.

"You don't know me. You don't have any responsibility." Short sentences were easier. "Why do you care?"

Innocent eyes stared at him incredulously. "You're Sirius Black. You're a hero."

"Do you really still believe that?" Sirius whispered bitterly. Her eyes widened in shock, and he regretted it immediately--but not fast enough to stop himself. He gestured with his left arm, making pain shoot through his body. "After this?"

"You--" She didn't seem to know how to finish.

"Never mind. I'm sorry." Sirius sighed painfully. "I'm bitter and I'm tired. Don't mind me."

"It's okay." Lockhart smiled lopsidedly. "I understand."

He snorted. Bad idea. "Glad to know one of us does."

"Can I get you anything?"

"Get me a coma," he muttered.

"What?" she gaped.

"Nothing. I'll be okay."

"You look like hell, sir," Lockhart objected.

"Don't call me 'sir'," Sirius replied tiredly. "Makes me feel old."

She chuckled, and for a moment he felt vaguely human...right up until pain exploded from his left arm.

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

"Dear God." Peter's voice was subdued, but his eyes were large. James swallowed.

"Yeah."

Side by side, the two made their way west along Diagon Alley, with Peter walking and James "rolling" his modified wheelchair along several inches above the ground. They'd Apparated in together, after contacting Frank Longbottom and getting a window opened, and though it was four hours since the attack, both were still shocked by the carnage. James swallowed. I can only imagine how bad it was earlier. Exhausted Aurors were directing candidates and volunteers in the cleanup efforts, but looking at them only made James feel guilty. He'd left Harry with Molly Weasley and had pulled Peter out of France, knowing that he needed to be there, and needed his department heads, too. Even Lily couldn't tell James that it wasn't safe for him, now, and even if it wasn't, James hadn't ever been good at hiding.

Department heads. Damn. Fudge approached first, as usual. Poor Arthur was on his heels, looking harried and hassled--he'd obviously been dealing with the career politician for hours, probably since Fudge had arrived. Judging from the efficiency surrounding them, Arthur had proved rather successful in controlling Fudge, but that still didn't make it better. Moments like this reminded James why he hated politics.

"Minister!" Fudge extended a hand, looking pompous and important. As usual. Hackles prickling on his neck, James took the hand without enthusiasm, and tried not to cringe.

"Mister Fudge," he managed to say cordially. "Thank you for coming."

"This is an absolute tragedy." For once, even Fudge looked subdued. "I cannot even begin to estimate the extent of the damage, and so many innocents..." he trailed off, then set his mouth grimly. "We must do something."

"I couldn't agree more."

His other department heads were approaching, looking shell-shocked and terrified. They glanced around with wide-eyed horror, trying to anchor themselves enough to understand what had happened. It was probably the second time in history that all the Ministry's departments were completely united. The first had been after the Ministry's destruction two months previously, but that harmony had faded and the politicking had returned with a vengeance. But no more. No longer. Fragmentation meant death, and these witches and wizards knew that. The only way to survive would be to stand together.

Arthur approached as Fudge turned away to speak to Nathaniel Adams, head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports since Ludo Bagman had been killed.

"Everyone's here," he told James quietly, nodding a greeting to Peter. "Frank Longbottom will continue rescue work, and Alice will represent the DMLE."

"Thanks." James managed to smile, but it felt fake. "Sorry that I couldn't come earlier."

"It's all right." Arthur shot a quick glance around the alleyway. "I understand."

"How are things?" He'd noticed the look, hadn't missed the lines that worry had etched into his deputy's face.

"Going." Arthur shrugged. "Slow, but moving along. It'll be weeks before we get this place cleaned up."

"Have all the injured been evacuated?"

"Yes," another voice answered. It was Alice, who was an old colleague and an even older friend. "The last ones were moved out an hour ago, and St. Mungo's is under guard by Aurors. We have the candidates here to help with everything else."

"Thanks, Alice."

She smiled tiredly. "That's the job."

"Right, then," Peter spoke up from James' left. "Where do we want to meet?"

"Somewhere safer than here," Marcy Basil replied immediately, making several people exchange doubtful glances.

"There isn't anywhere safer," Alice interjected coldly.

"Not in Diagon Alley, anyway," James added before anyone could object. "We've nothing to hide. We'll talk here."

He had reason to speak with confidence. The reporters had all been chased away--the only thing that the Aurors hated more than reporters were Death Eaters, but reporters were a damn close second. Theirs was a view that James still shared; there were moments when reporters were a far more dangerous enemy than a dark wizard could ever hope to be. Now, though, the only people present were volunteers and rescue workers, from whom they indeed had nothing to hide.

"Well, in that case, why did you call us here?" Amos Diggory demanded, making James swallow.

"First of all, to see everyone. To let you know that we're working on fixing things..." He shot Fudge a wan smile. "And that something is going to be done."

"What?" Adams asked. Out of the corner of his eye, James spotted Remus approaching.

"I don't know yet," the Minister admitted. "And that's really why we're here. We've got questions; we need answers. And actions."

Fudge spoke up immediately. "Speaking of questions, I do have one."

Heads turned. "I think we all do," Arthur said tiredly, then sighed. "But there's no reason why you shouldn't start."

"Why thank you, Deputy." He smiled sweetly, and had James not been so distracted, he might have realized that something was wrong when Fudge turned to face Alice Longbottom.

"We're missing a department head," he pointed out innocently. "Namely, the one who most ought to be here. Where, might I ask, is Sirius Black?"

Alice's eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

"Oh?" Fudge asked. "Don't you think that the government has a right to know where one of its so-called heroes ran off to?"

"'So-called'?" A block of ice settled in James' gut, even as Alice snapped:

"You being uniquely suited to judge courage and heroism, of course."

"I don't have the Dark Mark branding my arm," Fudge shot back.

"What?" Several voices gasped, among them James' own.

"You didn't know?" The politician's gaze was now focused on James alone. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named marked him. Or, perhaps," his eyes glinted, "he merely revealed something that had been there all along."

Suddenly, a hand was on James' shoulder, and an urgent voice was whispering in his ear. "He forced it on him, Prongs, and Sirius fought it like hell. I wasn't there, and I don't know enough, but I know he fought it. This isn't what it looks like. It isn't what he'll make it be."

James had almost forgotten about Remus, but his friend's hand was comfortingly tight on his shoulder. His voice was so quiet that James realized that Remus must have been kneeling beside him; Peter might have overheard, but there wasn't a chance of Fudge knowing what was said. What Remus had said... James felt sick. The Dark Mark--Dear God. How could Sirius deal with that? Sirius. Sirius.

He swallowed back the horror and forced himself to nod. After a final squeeze of James' shoulder, he heard Remus rise to stand behind him, right between James and Peter. They faced Fudge together.

"Or perhaps things are not what they seem, Cornelius," James forced himself to say evenly.

"Even if they aren't, I believe such a matter requires immediate investigation," the head of the department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes said righteously.

It was Remus, ever the voice of reason, who spoke before James could frame a suitably calm reply. Only later would James realize that Hogwarts' headmaster seemed completely at ease amongst the leaders of the Ministry of Magic, and not a single one of the department heads objected to his presence. "That may well be, Minister Fudge," he said quietly, "but now is hardly the time to begin. There are too many others to care for first."

His soft voice won them over; James could have argued until he was blue in the face, but he would have chosen the wrong tact. Rattled and taken them by surprise, James probably would have railed at his subordinates, and they would have hated him for it. Remus, I owe you the world's biggest favor, he thought with relief. His head was spinning with questions, but James had to turn to the matter at hand despite the fact that his best friend now bore the Dark Mark.

"Let's get to business, shall we?" he asked pointedly, and heads nodded. It would be a long day, but they had work to do.

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

He'd blacked out again, or started to, anyway. Forcing himself to keep--regain?--consciousness was exhausting.

"Sir?" Lockhart sounded worried.

Sirius coughed. "I thought I told you not to call me that."

"Then what would you like me to call you?" He thought he heard her smile, but his eyes weren't functioning all that well.

"Siri--"

Pain exploded from his left forearm, making white light flash before his eyes. Helplessly, Sirius screamed, feeling the Mark burn, feeling every line of it etched into his arm as if a knife had carved them there. But even as burning agony ate away at his arm, icy fingers clawed at his soul. Memories.

"Why do you fight?"

"You keep asking as if my answer is going to change," Sirius managed to whisper. His throat burned more now than before, even if his hazy vision was trying to clear.

"It will."

"So? You know I'll fight you every step of the way."

"Yes, you will. But why?"

Sirius snorted and lied. "Because you hate it."

And then nothing. Just cold blackness.

Distantly, Sirius was aware that he had stopped screaming. He had gone still, gone cold. His body felt like stone. Sirius didn't even know if he was breathing, and Lockhart might have been talking--but he had no way to know. So cold.

I own you, Sirius. Heart, body, mind, and soul.

Not memories.

Cold laughter.

Burning.

Oh, yes. I own you. There is no fighting it.

He wanted to fight, but he could not move. Sirius' mind was working too slowly to understand everything, but his heart knew. It knew far too well. Despite that knowledge, though, he could not. He could hardly think, could not fight--

Yes. Surrender. You have no choice.

Never in his life had Sirius felt so cold. Not even when surrounded by Dementors, when locked in the hell he had survived. Distantly, he thought that he heard Lockhart calling his name, panicking...but maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he really was alone in the darkness, alone with the agony in his arm. So cold.

Give in, Sirius.

No.

The answer rose from somewhere buried within his soul, came from a deep place that even Voldemort had never been able to reach. The gnawing evil inside him was new, but he'd spent ten years fighting heartbreak, a decade digging inside himself to fight even when there was nothing left. Struggling had become instinctual. He used to do it even when he was aware of little else.

Nothing new, that, he thought bitterly.

Agony. Sirius knew that he screamed again because his throat felt raw and bloody. He could feel Voldemort's cold fury, feel the evil that was invading his mind. Had he been standing inches away from the Dark Lord, the sensations would have been no clearer. Their old link was stronger than ever.

You have no choice.

Watch me. Pain, and he screamed again.

Defiance has its penalty, Sirius. Playful satisfaction. You have known that for years.

The words were a distraction. Voldemort was warring for control of his soul. Sirius felt as if an enormous hand was shoving him down towards defeat, towards death--or worse.

Have I ever cared? he demanded.

Had claws torn into his heart, it would have hurt less.

You will.

No.

He could almost see the smile. You let me give you my Mark, didn't you?

The question burned on his arm, and Sirius felt his resistance waver.

Didn't you?

So cold. He was so cold, and so alone.

Sirius?

Empty. Dark. Alone.

Afraid.

No!

Something snapped.

Nothingness. His eyes flew open as he gasped for air. Little by slowly, his vision cleared, and the room came into focus. Dana Lockhart stared at him in terror.

"Get Pomfrey," Sirius gasped, and then promptly blacked out.

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

The owl was waiting for him when he reached Domus Archipater, drop dead weary and ready to get out. Tomorrow, he would move back to Hogwarts, and Snape had rarely been so eager to return. Unlike many of his old school friends, Snape did not worship his ancestral home. The place had been dead to him ever since his parents had died--what was a lonely bachelor to do with a sweeping and ancient mansion? He had very few living relatives, just a cousin or two whose names he had forgotten, and even if he did try to remember, odds were that they wanted little to do with him. Severus Snape simply was not the type of man who people were proud to know. Associating with Snape was dangerous, even for Death Eaters. Playing the double game, he lived in the darkest of the shadows and lived the most dangerous of lies.

It was a lonely life, but he liked it that way. Usually. At Hogwarts, anyway, it was an oddly seductive life--Snape had no problem being the loner amid so much bustle and activity. But here...

The owl was sitting on the banister of the wide marble staircase, staring at him with huge eyes. His first thought, quite irrelevantly, was that the owl's light brown feathers clashed horribly with his decor. The second, though, was far more to the point. That owl was Julia's.

A block of ice settled in his stomach, and all of Snape's questions were answered by the presence of that sleek little owl, named Boudicca. He took the letter without looking, and felt his guts churn.

"Damn you," he whispered.

Severus,

I would have stopped at Domus Archipater to say goodbye if I could have, but I know where you still are. I know that you're trying to figure out the answers to the mystery which you now realize I am a part.

I won't say that I am sorry, because I believe you would have done the same. I will say thank you, though, for showing me the way. Without your friendship, your honesty, I would have been lost. In these last few months, you have helped me find myself again, for which I owe you more than I can ever repay. So, instead I will heckle you.

Be careful, Severus. Please, whatever risks you must take, be careful. I never really asked you why you do what you have chosen to do, but I know that you have a burning need to do the right thing. But please do not get yourself killed doing that. I know it would make you laugh, but the world needs men like you.

I have to leave the country--where I am going, I will not say. But I will stay alive, and I will stay safe, wherever I go. After all, as you've always told me, sometimes it is healthier to know nothing. But when I return, I will find you, and we can trade stories, maybe even tell the truth for the first time in years.

I'll miss you until then, you lonely and secretive bastard. Don't ever fool yourself into thinking that you have no friends. Be careful, be strong, and I will see you on the other side.

Your friend,

Julia

PS: Destroy this letter. I'll be back before this is over.

Snape swallowed, then crumbled the letter up into a tiny ball. He'd thought of the house as empty before, but that was nothing compared to the gaping hole in his heart.

"Damn you."


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Author notes: As most of you know, I have now reported to my first ship with the Navy, so my free time is rather limited. Things might calm down a bit in the future, and I am still writing, but please be patient with me. That said, stay tuned for Chapter Twenty-Four: “Dawn of a New Day.”