Promises Remembered

Promises Remembered

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Twenty-Four: Dawn of a New Day

The sun broke over Avalon, soaring in across the waves, bringing with it gold light to a world that so often was shrouded in darkness. Dawn seemed to sweep over the island, starting on the ancient roof tops and working its way down the old walls, down the hill, and across green fields. On the shores, the sunlight glinted off the waves, making it hard to look directly at the water, but it was still a beautiful day, and felt like summer. A normal person might have seen the sight and felt hope, but the Aurors and candidates were too drained for such fine emotions. Every last one of them had been awake throughout the night, helping clean up and reconstruct Diagon Alley as well as relieving the full Aurors on guard at St. Mungo's.

Now, the seventeen hour long cleanup of Diagon Alley had come grinding to a halt and Candidate Section Three had joined a team of three Aurors at the hospital. Everyone was ready to fall asleep on their feet, despite the rigorous conditioning of Auror training. Candidates and Aurors alike had shared the load, including Tonks' own section, 4904-4, which had pulled the last, and longest, two shifts in Diagon Alley in addition to the first one at St. Mungo's. Because of that, every witch and wizard on the island wanted to collapse, but no one was ready to yet.

But when dawn came, most of the Aurors (professionals and candidates alike) were milling around outside the Main Villa, talking very little and staring blankly at the sky. They were waiting. Waiting and hoping.

Not everyone was waiting, though, and that worried the Aurors more than it might have otherwise. The four instructors, plus Alice Longbottom and Dana Lockhart were still inside, and Weasley and Dana had been there since Sirius Black had arrived. Less than three hours later, Poppy Pomfrey had arrived from Hogwarts--an odd choice that only worried Tonks--and had disappeared into the Main Villa as well. And it didn't exactly take Rowena Ravenclaw to figure out what was going on. But they knew nothing.

Finally, ragged and with deep circles under her dark eyes, Alice Longbottom emerged from the Main Villa. She'd arrived an hour before, having bounced between Ministry meetings and coordinating security while her husband ran the Diagon Alley cleanup efforts. Frank Longbottom, of course, the candidates knew well--too well, for most--but Alice they knew little enough about. She was the apparent number two in the Auror Division and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but she'd not come once to Avalon during their training. Many were too exhausted to even recognize her, but Tonks watched tiredly as Alice walked up to Francine Hoyt. They spoke quietly before Alice turned to face everyone else.

"He'll be all right," she said without preamble. "He's awake now, and resting."

Relief seemed to deflate the crowd, and Tonks felt a cold shiver wash over her. It wasn't just that Sirius was family--he was a hero. They needed him, and if Voldemort had managed to kill or had done enough damage to make Sirius die of the aftereffects, everything Sirius had fought for would come to naught. The mystery behind his Dark Mark was bad enough, but Mark or not, they needed him. And so did the rest of the world.

Tonks scowled. Yes, the Wizarding World needed him, but would they understand? The Mark had shocked the Auror Division, but they were Aurors. They understood that it wasn't Sirius' choice, that sometimes darkness did win. The rest of society, though... She snorted out loud. They believed what they read in the Prophet. They believed that the world existed in black and white. Shades of gray did not exist. Would they understand? She was afraid to find out.

Horace leaned close to her. "I wonder how Dana is doing?"

"Tired, I bet," she replied, yawning in an involuntary illustration of her point.

"We all are." Surprisingly, it was Cornelia who spoke, no longer so strikingly beautiful when coated in grime and not having slept since two nights before.

"Yeah," Horace agreed. "I s'pect that we all look dead, too."

Cornelia chuckled. "Quite."

"So, where's Jason?" Tonks asked, more to keep herself awake than out of any desire to know.

"Talking to Longbottom," she replied with a shrug. "Heaven only knows why."

Tonks followed Cornelia's gaze just in time to see Jason walk away from Alice Longbottom with a scowl on his face. The older Auror's expression was unreadable, but her tired eyes tracked Jason as he headed back towards his fellow candidates. He was growling by the time he reached them.

"What is it?" Horace asked, but Jason shook his head.

"Nothing."

Tonks opened her mouth to argue, but Alice Longbottom cleared her throat to get everyone's attention. "At this time," she began, "all candidates will return to their barracks. All active Aurors will be housed in the Main Villa's guest quarters. Guard rosters will continue as previously announced under the direction of Mr. Dawlish. For other than official reasons, no one will leave this island. Any and all questions need to be directed at myself or to the instructors."

Adam Macmillian stood up from where he'd been seated in the grass. "Are Fire Calls to our families authorized?"

"For active Aurors, yes. For candidates, no," Alice replied immediately, making several of Tonks' classmates frown. Why, she did not know--they hadn't been able to call home since day one of training. In fact, the candidates' work on Diagon Alley and at St. Mungo's was the first time they'd been allowed to leave the island, but apparently that didn't occur to people like Jason Clearwater.

"That's discrimination," he growled.

Horace rolled his eyes, and spoke in an undertone. "That's policy."

"But--"

"Shh!" Cornelia hissed. "You're being an ass."

Only she could have gotten away with that. Even after spending a month in close company of the others, Jason was still absurdly arrogant. Sometimes, Tonks thought it was a part of his personality that Jason simply couldn't do without. She fought back the urge to snicker--Hell, a little humility would probably kill him. Jason growled again, but shut up.

Longbottom continued:

"The Main Villa is off limits to anyone who does not have prior authorization. Active Aurors are encouraged to utilize training facilities if they so desire, but all normal Area Boundaries apply where candidates are concerned." Her eyes swept over the group.

"Unless there are any further questions, you are all dismissed. I will keep you updated as things develop."

Slowly, the group split apart, drifting towards their respective housing with the aimless steps typical of the physically exhausted. Only Jason attempted to linger, and it took a hard tug on his arm by Cornelia to get him moving once more.

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His limbs felt like lead when he awoke up for the second time since Pomfrey had gone to work. The first time had been a disaster; Sirius had woken up shaking and shivering, literally covered in a thin layer of ice. He had been so wrapped up in his internal battles that he had completely ignored his physical body--unintentional, but Voldemort's second attack had been far more violent than the first. He'd clung to consciousness after that, yet had proved unable to do so alone. It had taken the combined efforts of Bill Weasley and Madam Pomfrey to keep him there, and Bill had ended up serving as Sirius' anchor, holding him in the real world.

After that, Voldemort had not gained ascendance over his soul--but it had been close. Hours passed before Pomfrey could even begin healing him; Sirius had been too preoccupied with controlling himself, and Bill too occupied with keeping him conscious. Alive. Bill, Sirius knew, had saved his life while he'd been struggling for his soul. But he hadn't the strength to thank him when it ended. Sirius had hardly the energy to take the medicine Pomfrey had given him and drift into a semi-conscious form of rest. At some point, his lethargic state had faded into sleep, but he hadn't noticed. Until now.

His eyes opened so slowly that Sirius feared they might be frozen shut. Finally, though, they opened, and he blinked dizzily. It took Sirius a long moment to realize that he was staring into the eyes of Hestia Jones.

"You are not," he rasped, his mouth as dry as a desert, "exactly the woman I want to wake up looking at."

Jones snorted. "I can see your sense of humor is still intact," she retorted. "And there we were, thinking that you might die. Clearly, we shouldn't have bothered."

"Somethin' like 'at," Sirius mumbled. He tried to smile, but his face didn't want to. He coughed, trying to moisten his mouth. "Water?"

"Here." Jones handed him a cup, blushing a little. "How do you feel?"

Sirius drank, surprised that his right arm wanted to move at all. "Better." Like I'm only dying, not dead. "What are you doing here?"

"We all took turns after Bill collapsed into bed."

"Is he all right?" His throat was unbelievably raw, and the water felt good going down.

"Yeah," Jones replied, "just tired."

"I'm glad to hear that." His mind was clearing, but as his thoughts organized themselves, the pain became apparent. His forearm hurt less than before, but the feeling was still there, and Sirius knew without touching it that the Mark would be freezing cold if he did so. "I'll have to thank him later."

"Later, yes, but Madam Pomfrey will hex me if I let you out of bed now."

Surprising himself, Sirius laughed. "Is everyone who went to Hogwarts afraid of that woman?"

"I think so," Jones said seriously, then smiled. "She did a good job on you."

His stomach growled before he could agree. "What time is it?"

"One-thirty, twoish," she shrugged. "You've been sleeping for hours." Lots of them, he realized. Pomfrey had finished just before dawn.

"There any food around?" he asked, feeling his stomach grow more insistent in reminding him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast on the 13^th. Now, after lunchtime on the 14^th, Sirius felt ready and willing to eat a three-headed dog.

"Yeah." Jones rose. "If you promise not to die while I'm gone, I'll get you something."

"I won't die." Sirius smiled. "I promise."

"Good." She left.

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

By the time Jones came back, Sirius was sitting up in bed. She glared, but the time she had spent "reorienting" him had taught Jones that Sirius was constitutionally incapable of backing down--even when it was for his own good. That had been one of the qualities she had come to hate him for, but months of working side by side had taught them mutual respect.

Jones groaned. "You don't give up, do you?"

"No."

He hadn't meant for his voice to sound so flat, hadn't meant to seem so distant. But being alone had made him think. For all he could force smiles and maybe even manage a laugh when he felt distracted enough, the emptiness had not gone. The cold and sick feeling in the back of his throat remained, and Sirius was beginning to think that it would never leave. He might have won one battle, but the burning brand on his arm was a lasting reminder that he was losing the war.

"Are you all right?" she asked suddenly, and Sirius blinked.

"Yes. I'm fine." Jones was staring at him with worried and perceptive eyes. He sighed. "Being alone...it made me remember."

And the nightmares were still dancing through his mind's eye.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked quietly.

"No."

Perhaps he should have said more. Perhaps Jones deserved better. But he could not, would not--"No one knows it is there. But there it will remain forever. There is no taking it back."--Not there and not then. Sirius forced himself to swallow, but no matter how much he knew that he was being cruel, he could not bring himself to say the few kind words it would have taken to soften the blow.

"All right," Jones said cautiously. "Here's you food, then."

"Thank you."

He ate in uneasy silence, glad that she'd picked food that wouldn't irritate his raw throat. His stomach rolled in protest after the first two bites, but Sirius forced his wayward innards to comply. As hungry as he was, Sirius still felt sick, sick enough to wonder if throwing up might be easier. But no, he knew that he needed to eat. He needed to heal.

The spell floated into his half-conscious state, making Sirius moan in pain. His entire body burned in pain, and he felt...tainted. Cold. Dark. His left arm felt as if it were both dead and on fire.

"Good morning."

He blinked. Breathing was agony, and he tasted blood. Sirius wanted to scream, but could not find the strength to do so any more. He could not stop shaking.

"And how are we feeling today?"

He hardly had the strength to keep his eyes open, but Sirius forced himself to swallow until he could speak. "You didn't win," he whispered hoarsely.

His body jerked in pain.

"You say that with such certainty." The Dark Lord smiled. "As it happens, this round, I did win."

Coughing made him scream in pain, and it took a long moment before Sirius could even think about speaking. "Are you so sure about that?" he rasped, choking back another scream.

"Quite sure, yes. You survived with your mind unshattered. I want you broken, not shattered."

Shivering, Sirius noticed Jones staring at him. Sometime while he'd been caught in the memories, he had dropped his fork, letting it flop uselessly on the tray. Resolutely ignoring her glance, he picked up the utensil and recommenced eating. Memories were something he'd been dealing with for years.

Chew. Swallow. Bite. Chew. Swallow. Force stomach to stop doing back flips. Long moments passed in silenced, and a cold corner of Sirius' mind rejoiced in them. While he certainly didn't need to think, didn't need to remember, he didn't want to talk. Jones would not understand. She could not. No one could.

"There were two interesting articles in the Prophet this morning," Jones said, making Sirius start. Silently, he cursed his own nervous reaction, furious that he'd lost control enough to flinch. Some Auror you are, Sirius. He almost snorted aloud. You can't even listen to her talk without flinching.

"The news is out," she continued when he did not reply. The words made Sirius find his voice.

"That's no surprise."

Obviously, she'd been hoping for more interest. "You want to read them?"

August 13, 1992

DARK MARK--DARK WIZARD?

by Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent

For years, the Wizarding World has known the meaning

the Dark Mark: a serpent crawling out of a skull with gleaming

eyes. It has long been the symbol of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-

Named, the mark given to his most loyal followers...and now

graces the arm of the Wizarding World's so-called greatest

hero, Sirius Black.

That hero label seems to be getting a bit stale, now, doesn't it?

Let's pause for a moment to add up the facts. Look at the truth

instead of the fantasy for once.

Fact One: Black claims to have been the Potters' Secret

Keeper, and have kept that secret despite ten years of torture.

Fact Two: Those ten years were spent in the hands of He-Who-

Must-Not-Be-Named.

Fact Three: The Dark Mark is now visible on Black's arm.

But how long has it been there? And why? There are many who

will claim that Black fought the Mark, but those who actually saw

what happened know that is a lie. He hardly resisted at all, and if

that doesn't make one wonder, what does?

Hero no longer seems to be the appropriate word. In fact, traitor

seems to be much more fitting--Black has clearly been serving

Voldemort ever since his supposed "escape" from Azkaban, and

now that fact has come to the light. He will try to deny it, of

course, but who can argue with that glaring serpent on his arm?

So there you have it--truth, without lies, though the Ministry of

Magic will undoubtedly try to cling to their "hero" as long as they

can. Is that willful ignorance or criminal neglect? At this point, it

is almost impossible to tell, but Black's oldest friend is James

Potter, the man who so smoothly slipped into the position as

Minister of Magic through lies and trickery.

The war is no longer black and white, if a war is what this is at

all. Now it seems that the Wizarding World has become pawns

in a greater game, dancing to the tune set by He-Who-Must-Not-

Be-Named. The only question left is what the average witch

or wizard will do now that the lies are exposed.

THE PRICE OF FREEDOM

by Charles Li, Special Correspondent

A miracle happened in Diagon Alley today. Not a miracle in the

classical sense of the word--no fairy tales or magical

creatures--just old fashioned heroism and courage.

Hundreds of witches and wizards watched what we would

classify as impossible happen. We watched, in broad daylight,

Death Eaters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attack Diagon

Alley, killing innocents and slaying those who could not fight

back. Led by the Dark Lord himself, the Death Eaters wreaked

havoc at will, destroying one of Wizarding Britain's oldest safe

havens.

Or very nearly destroying.

Broad daylight. Hundreds, if not thousands, of spectators. Only

one acted.

Sirius Black. We should be used to hearing that name by now,

especially when connected to heroic events, extraordinary

circumstances. Perhaps we ought to be accustomed to his

stepping forward when others will not. Perhaps.

But those who watched the fateful events in Diagon Alley can not

forget his actions--or the price that Sirius Black had to pay.

As we watched in stunned silence, unmoving and afraid to act,

Sirius Black paid a severe price to protect those who would not

fight. He stood alone against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,

because only the Aurors who rushed to aid from their secret

headquarters and two Hogwarts professors bothered to help. No

one else did.

And Sirius Black paid the price for our freedom. And he paid it in

full.

The Dark Mark now burns on Sirius Black's arm, and not a soul

who watched that fateful day in Diagon Alley can claim that it

was placed there with his consent.

Where this will lead, no one can know, but those of us on the

sidelines can be sure that Sirius Black will meet the future with

the same courage with which he has faced the past. There may

be little to depend upon in the weeks to come, but what little

hope there is has been pined on Sirius Black.

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

Remus paced the battlements, alone in the emptiness. The late afternoon sun shone brightly, but he felt that it ought to have been pitch black outside. Something was wrong. Unseen forces were pushing at him, directing him towards an unknown end--where, he did not know. But the visions were increasing in both frequency and clarity. The Font had been trying to tell him something for weeks, something important. Remus only wished that he knew what.

"You look worried."

The voice made him jump. Rare was the occasion that anyone could sneak up on Remus--between his own augmented senses and the Font's influence, Remus was especially aware of his surroundings, even at the worst of times. That was especially true on Hogwarts' grounds, but had somehow never applied to Severus Snape. In a strange way, Remus had a feeling that the Font liked Severus.

"Something is going to happen," he replied slowly, turning to face his deputy. Severus was the first of the professors to arrive, probably, and undoubtedly the only one with the tenacity to seek the headmaster out. Everyone else would arrive by dinner, though, and Remus was looking forward to the company.

Severus snorted. "That's news."

"Clearly." Remus threw him a sour look, then shrugged helplessly. "No...it's just that something is coming. I can feel it."

"Feel it?" the other echoed, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

"Yes." He wanted to say more, but... Damn your dual identities, Severus. Damn it that when I want to trust you the most, I do not dare--and more for your safety than for my own. "I feel it."

Wisely, Snape asked no more. Instead, he spoke very quietly. "Something is coming. To Hogwarts, anyway."

"Voldemort?" He could not help feeling surprised. Ever since the failed attack by the giants that seemed to have been a lifetime in the past, the Dark Lord had done nothing. He had not threatened Hogwarts, had not made a move. Rather, he seemed content to wait. To wait and learn.

"I fear so," Severus admitted.

"Fear?" Remus echoed softly. It was not a word he accustomed to hearing Snape ever use.

"Yes. I do." He watched the other's dark eyes sweep over the grounds. His voice was pained. "I love this place. I would not see it die."

Remus swallowed. "We will make sure it does not."

"I hope we can." Snape's gaze met his. "But I fear the worst. Matters are coming to a head, Remus. Soon, there will be no hiding it. The war will begin in earnest."

"And it hasn't already?" Remus felt cold.

"You have yet to see what the Dark Lord will dare, my friend," Severus said softly. "I pray that you never will."

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

The Ministry had yet to establish long-lasting headquarters. Every temporary location they had found had either been betrayed or discovered, and James was not keen on risking lives needlessly. "Rumor" (otherwise known as Severus Snape) reported that Voldemort had tasked Lucius Malfoy with the destruction of any and all Ministry headquarters, and so far, Malfoy had done an outstanding job of it. Thus far, the seven departments of the Ministry were meeting in separate and undisclosed locations: even James did not know where they all were, though he and Arthur did have communications channels open to all the Department Heads. Many of the departments were still running on skeleton staffs, but they were working--for better or worse, the government was functioning.

More or less. He and Arthur were sharing a shady office in a rundown Muggle office building, doing most of their work at home and through Fire Calls, but using what they called the "Ugly Office" to meet privately. Neither could afford to do so often, but sometimes they had to.

"Fudge is beginning to stir up the Department Heads," Arthur said quietly. His once jolly face was lined: he seemed to have aged a dozen years since the attack on the Ministry, and another dozen since the massacre at Diagon Alley.

"Again?" James snarled angrily. "Does he ever stop?"

Arthur's smile was lopsided. "Do you want me to answer that?"

"No," he groaned. "What's he want now?"

"Peace. He says that we have to end this war before more innocents die. At any cost," Arthur added grimly.

"What aren't you saying?" James asked warily. Fudge had been saying much the same thing ever since the destruction of the Ministry and Dumbledore's death had projected him into an unsuspected limelight. The attack on Diagon Alley had only given him additional ammunition--but something in Arthur's voice warned James that this was different.

"Apparently, Veronica Nightshade is doing an exclusive article for The Weekly Wizard," the Deputy Minister replied. "An old friend from Hogwarts tipped me off about it. The title is set to be 'A Vision of Peace'."

"Oh." There was little else to say. "Lovely."

"Quite," Arthur grunted. "From what I've heard, it's mostly an attack on you. And the Aurors."

James rolled his eyes. "And this is new how?"

"Well, it's worse than usual." The other chuckled humorlessly. "He denounces you as a warmonger and the Aurors as your willing tools."

"Warmonger, huh?" Despite himself, James grinned nastily. "I'd like to warmonger him."

"Yeah, me too."

"What's he say about you?" he asked his subordinate out of curiosity.

"Oh, the usual. Bungling, incompetent, helpless, and overwhelmed," Arthur replied cheerfully. "It isn't anything we haven't dealt with before, but I figured you'd want to know."

"I hate this job."

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