Promises Remembered

Promises Remembered

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Twenty-Six: Fear Driven

Generally speaking, the Weasley twins had a rule about getting up before dawn. Unless the purpose was pranking or otherwise full of mischief and/or mayhem, waking could certainly wait. Sleep, after all, was one of the most important things in the world: it provided energy and imagination, traits that no one would deny that Fred and George Weasley had in abundance. They were Hogwarts legends because of those qualities, and the two nurtured them whenever possible. Especially through sleeping late.

Some things, however, were more important than sleep. Even more important than pranks.

"Are you there, Lee?" Fred asked, his head sticking in the fire next to his twin's. The Burrow was eerily quiet in a way that it could only be when the entire Weasley clan was asleep. All but two, anyway.

"I'm here." The voice was muffled, but suddenly Lee Jordan's head came into view, twisting nervously from side to side.

"Sorry 'bout that," their friend apologized. "I thought I heard my Mum moving around upstairs."

Fred swallowed. The last thing they needed was the paranoid and frightened Mrs. Jordan to catch Lee with his head in the fire, especially since she was determined to keep her son away from all magic--including his Wizarding friends. "We can call back--"

"No, we'd better talk now. I'm pretty sure she's asleep," Lee cut him off.

"All right, then," George nodded, then glanced at his twin. The pair hesitated for a split second, each reading indecision in the other's eyes, but they were ready. George continued: "Look, Lee, I know we don't have much time, but we've got a plan."

"If it includes getting me out of here, I'm all for it," Lee replied immediately.

"It does," George replied. "Assuming you want to go back to Hogwarts."

"Are you kidding? I'd give up my Cleansweep Nine to go back!"

"Didn't your Mum take that?" Fred wondered curiously, his mind racing. Now that's an idea...

"No, I managed to trick her into thinking that Dad's old Shooting Star was mine, so she burned that one," Lee replied with a grin. "It was a close one, though. But what's that have to do with your plan?"

"Well, we figure if we can get you to Hogwarts, Professor Lupin won't make you go home," Fred explained.

"You're safer there, anyway," George added. "No matter what your mum thinks."

"Yeah, except for the fact that she won't let me near anything magical," Lee reminded them. "She won't let me out of her sight if you two arrive."

Fred snickered. "That, my friend, is where your friendly neighborhood Magical and Invisible Society For Instigating Trouble comes in." He grinned. "Explain, George."

"Gladly." His twin offered Fred a half-bow, the most he could manage with his head in the fire. "When the time comes for us lowly students to board the Hogwarts Express, Ron and Ginny will stage a distraction--did we mention that our innocent little sister has proven very useful lately?--because our Mum will never let us out if she knew what we were planning, either."

"And while our darling siblings, aided and abetted by Harry and Hermione, distract the multitude of parents--"

"We will steal the car," George finished.

Lee scowled as if the twins had lost what little sanity they still possessed. "What?"

"And come get you," Fred clarified solemnly.

"You'll get caught for sure. Can you even drive?" their friend demanded. George only grinned.

"Don't need to."

"Huh?"

"We're stealing the car," George explained. "Dad's car."

Lee stared back blankly, and Fred finally took pity on him.

"Dad's flying Ford Anglia, that is."

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"Morning, Dad."

"Mornin', Neville," Frank replied absently, his mind focused on one thing and one thing alone: coffee. Strong and black coffee.

The pot, fortunately, was full, and someone kissed him on the cheek as Frank helped himself to his first cup of many. "You look horrible, darling."

Frank grunted, cast a mild Cooling Charm on the steaming liquid, and guzzled it. He didn't care that coffee was considered by most of his countrymen (and most of his family, truth be told) to be woefully un-British. What he cared about was caffeine, taste, and the wonderful smell. And the caffeine. There were some things that Wake Up Charms and tea simply couldn't do.

Only when he'd finished with the cup did he feel even vaguely human--it had been a horribly long two days, and sleeping hadn't seemed to do much for him. Every bone in his body ached, and things weren't about to get any better. Frank was due to return to Avalon around lunchtime, right after Alice finished meeting with the Ministry to establish the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's next step.

"Thanks, Alice," he finally replied, pouring himself a second cup. "You sure know how to make a man blush."

She giggled, but there were dark circles under her eyes, too. "I do try."

"When do you leave?" Frank didn't bother to cool this cup; he wanted to enjoy the feeling of hot liquid pouring down his throat.

"In an hour or so," she replied with a shrug. "I didn't mean to be up so early, and wouldn't have been if the Prophet's stupid delivery owl hadn't smacked into the window. I think Neville forgot to open it again."

"Mum!" Their son scowled as he looked up from the Quidditch section. "I told you, it was the ghost."

Frank leaned against the counter, snickering. "Which one?"

"Y'know. The Ghost," Neville replied. "That one."

"Oh, yes. Mister-I-Refuse-to-Tell-the-Longbottoms-My-Name-Because-I-Died-In-This-House-Before-the-Longbottoms-Got-Here." Frank rolled his eyes. "That...gentleman is becoming a bit of a nuisance."

"No kidding," Alice agreed. "I've just about pinned him down as one of the minor Aggripa brothers. But there were so bloody many of them that I have no idea which one of the bas--" Frank kicked her. "Ouch!"

He smiled angelically, and Neville ignored them. "The Arrows won," he commented. "150 to 70."

"So, how about breakfast?" Frank chuckled, taking his own hint. "I'm starving."

"I was getting to that," Alice objected.

"You?" he snorted. "You would burn Glen Ridge down!"

"More like turn eggs into rocks," Neville mumbled, and Frank choked back laughter.

"Don't worry, Neville," he assured his son. "I'll save you from your Mum's cooking. He brandished his wand with a flourish. "So, what shall the Magnificent Chef create for today?"

"AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

"Goddammit!" Alice swore, grabbing her wand. "I'm going to kill that ghost!"

"Ouch!" Neville twisted in his chair, grabbing at transparent hands. "Stop throwing things at me!"

Frank fired off a spell and missed; Alice's attempt made a cupboard's doors burst open and a stack of bowls fly into the air. Neville dodged a flying frying pan and dove under the table, using language that Frank would have to remember to yell at him for later.

"Yowh!" A bowl smacked Alice on the head.

"Get out of my kitchen, you protoplasmic psychopath!" Frank shouted, just as Alice finally cornered Mister-I-Refuse-to-Tell-the-Longbottoms-My-Name-Because-I-Died-In-This-House-Before-the-Longbottoms-Got-Here with a Ghost-Dispatching Spell. With a yowl, the irksome ghost disappeared.

"Finally," she breathed, brushing a tangled clump of brown hair out of her eyes. "I'm getting really sick of him."

Frank sighed. "He's getting worse," he agreed. "It's not even slightly amusing now."

"It never was," his wife replied sourly.

"That," Neville said, crawling out form under the table, "is a perfect example of why the Decree Against Underage Wizardry is completely stupid."

"Times like this, I have to agree," Alice nodded, shoving her wand into a pocket and bending to pick up the scattered bowls. "We need to hire an exterminator."

"I think Mister-I-Refuse-to-Tell-the-Longbottoms-My-Name-Because-I-Died-In-This-House-Before-the-Longbottoms-Got-Here outdates the Resident Ghouls and Ghost Relocation Policy."

"You've got to be joking." Neville groaned. At the same time, Alice glared at Frank.

"Will you stop calling him that?"

"Nope," he replied cheerfully, then turned back to the subject, picking up a pair of bowls and handing them to Alice. "Unfortunately, though, I'm not joking. The oldest ghouls and ghosts got grandfathered into the policy."

"Ministry stupidity at it again."

"Neville!" Alice chided.

"What, Mum?" he asked innocently. "It's not like I'm lying."

Alice groaned. "A child of cynics."

"Of hungry cynics," Frank replied. "Breakfast before he comes back."

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"I hate Ministry meetings," James groused, making Lily snort.

"You think you do? I've been doing this for five years." She poked him in the stomach. "At least you got to hide out as an Auror."

"Hiding. Right."

They wheeled and walked into the conference room side by side. James had convinced The Founder's Inn to host this meeting, and prayed that Voldemort wouldn't decide that this was an opportune time to attack. The Founder's Inn was an old Wizarding retreat, though no one seemed to remember which "founder" it was named for. Still, it had a nice conference room, and the owner had been tickled to host the Minister of Magic and his department heads. James only hoped that she wouldn't live--or die--to regret it.

The Potters were the last to arrive, and the seated ministers rose politely as they did. Quickly, James ran his eyes around the table, noticing how few people seemed to want to sit by Alice Longbottom--was that a sign of mistrust in the Aurors? Peter sat to her left, but Peter had never cared about appearances. On her right, however, was Amos Diggory from the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and he looked thoroughly miserable. Facing Diggory was Marcy Basil of Transportation, but across from Alice was Fudge, and if that did not hold significance, James was a teacup. Nathaniel Adams of Games and Sports sat to Fudge's right, looking perfectly comfortable in such a position, something that did not surprise the Minister nearly as much as it disappointed him. In the far corner, at Adams' right and next to the wall was Lachlan Pritchard of the Department of Mysteries, wearing a distracted and distant expression. That, however, was to be expected. Lachlan had started his career as an Unspeakable, and was still one of the most famous wizards in the field. That, however, said nothing for his social skills.

Their eyes were watching him warily, waiting for their leader to act or to crack up--and in all fairness to his subordinates, James could not fault them for the feeling. Although most of them had finally gotten their first good night's sleep in over two days, dark circles still decorated many faces, either from exhaustion or stress.

Personally, James was still feeling both, and he had a far heavier weight to bear than any of the others. He cleared his throat. "Thank you all for coming," the Minister said quietly, wheeling up to the smooth mahogany table. "I understand the risks you have taken by doing so, and I will try to make this short. Please, sit down."

No one spoke as they complied, with Lily sliding into the seat at James' left. Arthur sat to his right, looking strained--still? James desperately wanted to ask what was bothering his deputy, but there was no time. No time for many things.

"I asked you to meet this morning for several reasons," James continued, "foremost of which is where we go from here. We have been hit hard, but there can be no looking back. Diagon Alley was three days ago. We must move forward."

Nathaniel Adams frowned heavily. "I dislike the callous way you are dismissing those who died and suffered in the attack."

"So do I." James looked him in the eye. "But we must. If we do not go on from here, what does that make us? What kinds of leaders allow grief to overcome judgment and forget about their obligations to the living?"

"Obligations," Marcy Basil pointed out quietly, "that we have been unable to fulfill."

Seeing agreement on many faces, James knew he had to get in fast. "We haven't failed yet," he reminded the others. "And we won't, so long as we keep fighting."

"But how do you defeat someone who is willing to do that?" Amos Diggory asked plaintively.

"Through teamwork." Surprisingly, it was Peter who spoke, making heads turn. "With heart."

Arthur nodded. "You cannot forget that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was driven away. Yes, he hurt many, and hurt them badly, but he did not do so unopposed. We are not without hope. As Peter says, teamwork and heart will take us far."

"And so will hope," Alice Longbottom interjected quietly. She was the only non-department head in the room (aside from Lily, who was simply James' secretary), yet was possibly the most serene person present, despite Adams' hostile glares. "For years, our world has waited for a hero, for one hero, to save us all. By now, though, I think we all now know that one individual cannot cause victory or defeat. We must stand together. We must hope together. And we must fight together. Alone, we will all suffer the fate of the innocents in Diagon Alley."

"But we do have a hero, Alice, m'dear." Only when Fudge spoke did James realize that his rival had so far been strangely quiet. But now the silver-haired wizard's eyes were gleaming. "One who can end the war single-handedly."

Peter frowned. "I believe you are putting too much weight on the shoulders of one man. Sirius has given--"

"Oh, I don't mean that." Fudge's smile was blinding, but when he turned to face James, his eyes became cold. "I am speaking of a letter that our dear Minister of Magic received. One which gives him the power to end the suffering. Forever."

James went numb.

Distantly, he heard Lily demanded, " How do you know about that?"

"My dear Lily, I cannot--" One of the others cut him off.

"What letter?" Adams demanded.

"From whom?" Marcy wanted to know.

"He does not keep his promises," a harsh voice interjected. "If it's from Voldemort, no good will come from this."

As James' frozen mind thawed, the first sight he registered was Peter's pale face--he'd been a Death Eater for too long not to understand. And he'd been a Marauder for even longer.

Peter's right hand was clutching convulsively at his left sleeve.

"You received a letter from the Dark Lord?" Diggory asked suspiciously.

"I did." Finally, James found his voice, but Fudge's slight smile made him want to scream. "However, unlike the esteemed Minister for Magical Accidents and Catastrophes," he paused to glare at Fudge. "I do not consider this a viable solution."

"I believe that it offers a long-awaited opportunity to end the war," the other replied, folding his hands smugly.

"I do not." James wished that he could stand and tower over his subordinates, but his disability kept him from doing it. "And unless you are all of a mind to remove me from office, my decision stands."

"Oh, no," Fudge purred. "We would never do that. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might not offer such generous terms to someone not so...pure."

Lily's emerald eyes flashed, and James saw Pritchard frown angrily, finally revealing that he was listening. Marcy, on the other hand, flushed red with fury--the newer and traditionally half-blood families had always been disgusted by the Fourteen. And there are times when I don't blame them at all.

"And what terms are these?" Pritchard demanded before Lily could snap at Fudge.

The head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes only smiled. Across the table, Alice looked ready to stab her quill through his eye--she'd break it at any moment if she didn't loosen her grip. Peter, to Alice's left, steadfastly ignored Fudge, keeping his anxious eyes glued to James' face. Wormtail didn't have to ask. Wormtail could guess.

"Voldemort claims that he will end the war if we give him what he wants," James replied quietly, knowing that he could avoid it no longer.

"What does he want?" Marcy asked warily. Peter answered.

"He wants Sirius."

"Yes. He does." James took a deep breath, letting his gaze drift around the table, watching shock form on some faces, and thoughtful indecision on others. In a flash, he knew what the next minutes would bring. Fudge would gather support by reminding everyone what they had lost and feeding fears--he had much to remind them of, and they had much to lose. And even those who were supposed to be strong knew fear. Each one of them had a good heart, wanted what was best for the Magical world...but they could fear. Fudge knew that, and would use it. Then the tide would turn, and Sirius would die.

For nothing.

He had few moments to spare. "While I would gladly," James began softly, "sacrifice myself to save others, I cannot order another man to do so--especially when that one man is the only hope we have."

"But what if we can end the war?" Diggory asked desperately.

Alice snorted. "What if we can't?"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named does not keep his promises," Arthur suddenly interjected. "We know this by now. This has to be a trap."

"And if it isn't?" Adams countered.

"Do you really believe that?" Alice demanded.

"Well, no, but--"

"But isn't it our duty to do everything we can?" Fudge interrupted reasonably. "Isn't this a chance we have to take?"

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There were only three of them in the room, and Severus supposed that he should have been honored by the company. Few were privileged enough to belong to this inner of inner circles, to the small group that the Dark Lord trusted most of all. Of course, Voldemort trusted no one completely--Severus often suspected that he trusted those closest to him more from necessity than desire, for everyone knew that these three insiders had their own problems.

Lucius looked shaky, as well he should. Summoned far earlier than the others, the senior Malfoy had paid the price for his sister's betrayal. Had he been a lesser Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy would not have lived to see dawn. Of that, Severus was sure, but Lucius was far too influential for even the Dark Lord to kill, not because Voldemort feared to do so, but because Lucius still had his uses. That, and while Severus suspected that Lucius knew more than he admitted to about Julia's fast escape, he certainly hadn't known about her betrayal before anyone else.

There goes another spy that I helped recruit, Severus thought darkly. At least this one isn't dead. Yet. I wonder when my turn will come up.

Such dark thoughts were easy to think when Bellatrix Lestrange was the other occupant of the room; something about Bella just exuded dark power--when she wasn't preoccupied with acting like a psychopath. She was dangerous, perhaps even more so than Lucius, but many forgot how powerful she was because Bella rarely displayed that power. Instead, she reveled in torture, in pain, and left others wondering exactly what she was capable of. Severus, however, did not need to wonder. He knew.

The door clicked open, and without bothering to look, all three Death Eaters knelt. No one else would dare intrude upon these three, and they recognized their Lord's footsteps soon enough. The door swung shut behind him, and they waited patiently to be told to rise.

Finally, one pale-fingered hand beckoned, and Severus straightened with the others. Cold red eyes studied them in silence for a long moment, gauging and thinking and planning. He always did. Voldemort was nothing if not brilliant.

"Has the Order of the Phoenix met yet, Severus?" As usual, the first question was not the one he had been expecting.

"No, My Lord," he replied honestly. "Though I do not understand why."

"The leaders of the Ministry of Magic, however, have." The burning gaze cut to Lucius. "Something that I believe you were tasked with preventing."

Lucius knelt. "I humbly beg My Lord's forgiveness," he said, head bowed. No one bothered to mention that Lucius had spent the night there on Azkaban, and could not have acted. Such excuses mattered not in their world. "I have failed to--"

"It has been dealt with," Voldemort cut him off.

"My Lord?"

The red eyes shifted again. "Explain, Bella."

"Yes, Master." She giggled, a lazy smile drifting across her face. "They are meeting to discuss the contents of a letter Jimmy Potter received. He, of course, wanted to keep it quiet, but I had a friendly chat with Cornelius Fudge about it."

Jimmy? Severus couldn't help thinking. Bellatrix was smirking at Lucius, now, who glared back irritably.

"Do rise, Lucius," their Lord said, drawing the antagonists' attention. "I want them to meet. I want them to fight. And I want them to shatter."

Something in that voice made alarms screech in Severus' head. "May we inquire, My Lord, what the contents of the letter are?"

For a moment, he thought that he would be cursed on the spot, but apparently Voldemort's good mood was holding. The smile was slight. "You will find out soon enough."

"Yes, Master." Snape knew better than to press. Bella giggled again.

"I called the three of you here for another matter," the Dark Lord continued coldly. "Hogwarts."

"My Lord?" Lucius spoke, for which Severus was grateful, because his heart was firmly lodged in his throat.

"The term begins shortly. By that time, I want a plan to infiltrate and wrest the school from the werewolf's hands," Voldemort ordered. "Lucius, you will prepare to attack the school in mid-September."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Hogwarts has long eluded me," the Dark Lord continued dangerously. "That tradition will end."

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

Daylight felt like a blessing when it streamed through the skylights. Although he'd seen many dawns, had even laid on his back and stared at a good number of them, this one felt different. It felt more...meaningful. Or perhaps symbolic was the right word. He had challenged the darkness and won. It was high time for the sun.

Sirius sat up slowly, wishing that his body didn't feel so heavy with exhaustion. He'd slept little until near day break, and a rain squall had followed the storm, hiding the sun until past noon, when he'd finally decided that it was time to move. Two days of rest were enough, even if it hadn't been entirely restful, but Poppy Pomfrey didn't need to know that. As far as Sirius was concerned, his inner battles would remain right where they had started: inside. If Pomfrey realized that he'd had Voldemort bouncing around in his head, she'd declare him insane and never let him out of bed again. Besides, he had other problems to deal with today.

Easing himself into a sitting position, Sirius tried not to growl in irritation. He was still stiff, and still slow...and it still felt like a lead weight had been chained to his soul. He had won the battle, yes, but the war had yet to be decided.

To hell with that. Sirius stood, ignoring his body's creaks and snaps of protest. Pulling on a set of midnight blue Auror's robes that someone had thoughtfully set out for him, he dressed almost by instinct, and found his wand the same way. Within moments, Sirius was largely presentable, and his growling stomach told him where he would be heading first.

A slight smile creased Sirius' face. Being hungry had to be a good sign, if not for any reason deeper than the fact that it was the first normal thought he'd had in days...and this was possibly the first time he had felt even vaguely like himself. There were still echoes in his mind, corners filled with darkness--but memories of that sort had lived inside him for years, and Sirius was well acquainted with hell. That, he could handle.

But he paused in the doorway, and found himself taking a deep breath. He did not want to...but he had to.

For the second time, Sirius looked at his left forearm. He stood, for a long moment, simply taking in the dark outline of the Mark, letting his eyes see what his heart had memorized line by line. He was still almost afraid to look, still almost believed that seeing the Mark would make it real. But there was no denying the truth, which Sirius had known all along, even if he hadn't wanted to. He could not avoid the Mark, could not hide it, could not lie. However, there was a chance that he could fight it, as he had in the dark hours of the previous night's storm. Sirius had won that battle, somehow, and today the Mark felt a little easier to bear because of that. Maybe, he reasoned, resistance weakened Voldemort's hold. Or maybe he had just had grown numb to the taint in his soul.

Another deep breath, and he had to get out. Resolutely, Sirius walked to the door, pulled it open, and stepped out into the hallway. From there, a half dozen steps took him out the front entrance of the Main Villa. There, he emerged into sunlight and warmth, and felt the pressure upon him lift, just a little. It wasn't enough, not by a long shot, but at least the feeling was something.

His stomach growled again, and Sirius headed around the end of the building and in through the second set of doors. He hadn't had to walk outside at all, really, to reach the dining hall, but it had felt good. However, as his hungry insides grew more insistent, Sirius headed for the food, having no idea what he would find there.

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