Promises Remembered

Promises Remembered

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Thirty: The Darkness Within

"Bad news, James."

Arthur's head bobbed in the fire, but it was three in the morning, and James' Deputy Minister was frowning deeply.

"What is it?"

He rubbed a hasty hand over sleep-filled eyes and replaced his glasses. A clump of hair tried doggedly to obscure his vision, but James hardly noticed. A haircut could certainly wait--Arthur was much more important, especially this early in the morning.

"Lachlan Pritchard is missing," the other explained tiredly. "I just got a call from Alice Longbottom. She had assigned Adam Macmillan--I think you know him?--to protect Pritchard, but they got ambushed by a half-dozen Death Eaters at around midnight."

"How? Where?" James tried to put his brain in order, but it was already racing. "And what was Pritchard doing out so late?"

"He was on his way from the Department of Mysteries," Arthur responded. Then he amended, "Rather, their temporary location."

James chewed on his lip briefly, thinking fast. Adam Macmillan was a good man, and one of the few Aurors who had returned to active service after spending time in Azkaban. He had been captured in October of 1991, James recalled, and everyone had thought him dead until Sirius and the others had cracked Azkaban open over eight months later. Unlike many of his fellow prisoners, Adam had chosen to stay in the Aurors, and though he had his demons, he was as good as they came. "How's Adam? I assume he's pretty banged up."

"Yeah. He's on Avalon now, but he was unconscious for several hours before he managed to find his way back."

"And Lachlan is gone." An empty feeling was growing in James' stomach, because he knew what gone meant. He knew what missing had to signify--Lachlan Pritchard might not be dead yet, but he was well on his way towards that point. James knew the head of the Department of Mysteries far too well; a former Unspeakable, Lachlan likely did not know how to break. And even if he did, he would die. It would only be a matter of time.

This is exactly what we don't need, he thought silently, and saw Arthur nod. The older man felt the same way.

"Are they searching for him?" James had to ask.

"Frank sent Bill and Hestia Jones out as soon as Adam arrived. Adam wanted to go, too, but Frank wouldn't let him," the other replied. "Alice said she also dispatched a team, but neither had found anything as of fifteen minutes ago."

"All right." James sighed quietly, realizing he'd never get back to sleep now. "Thanks for telling me. I'll contact Avalon and see if there's anything they need. And I'd probably better talk to Adam, too, and let him know that it isn't his fault."

"It isn't yours, either, you know," Arthur said perceptively.

"Yeah," he snorted quietly. "Right."

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Dawn at Hogwarts was generally considered by the professors to be one of the most beautiful times of the day. Perhaps this feeling stemmed from the fact that most students were still sleeping, which made the school feel deceptively quiet and peaceful, but whatever the reasons, Mundungus Fletcher fell among the number who were willing wake up to watch the dawn. He did so often, mostly to find peace within himself. The only different thing about this was that he did not do so alone.

And the company didn't exactly make things peaceful, either.

He sighed. "I don't know, Frank..." Dung said quietly, resisting the urge to bite his lip. He couldn't help shrugging, but everyone shrugged. Didn't they? "I don't... Ah, hell. Arabella talked to me about this before she died, and my answer was the same then as it is now. I don't want to go back."

"I know," the Auror replied. "James told me."

"Then why are you here?" Fletcher couldn't help but asking.

"Because we need you," Frank said bluntly. "And the things we want to do the least are often that which we most need to do."

Dung scowled. "Things aren't that bad," he objected. "Are they?"

"Yes."

"You're training--"

"Training, yes." Now it was Frank's turn to scowl. "Training twenty good witches and wizards to be Aurors. But training takes four of us out of the field and makes Alice's job even harder. She doesn't have nearly enough Aurors to fulfill all of our obligations, let alone protect people."

"Did she ask you to come?" Dung asked, partially out of curiosity and partially to waste time. To change the subject.

"No. Sirius did."

"Oh." Dung did not know Sirius well, and probably never would. They simply weren't from the same generation, and despite the seats both held in the Inner Circle, they did not have much in common. But Dung respected the man, what he had done, and what he had faced. Sirius Black knew about demons.

"I know this isn't easy for you to hear," Frank said softly, reminding Dung that he, too, knew all about the horrors an Auror faced in the Dark Lord's hands. "And I know that you don't want to come back. Maybe, if things had been different when I got out of Azkaban, I would have felt the same way.

"But we can't hide, Dung. The war won't go away if you turn your back. Once upon a time, you were willing to fight for your beliefs. Are you now?"

The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor swallowed. "I haven't turned my back," he said quietly. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes. But now you are needed elsewhere," the other replied.

"I know." The admission somehow escaped without Dung's permission, but it was true. He had known for over a year.

"Will you come back, then?"

"Maybe." He swallowed again. "But not now. I can't--I have responsibilities here, and I won't let Remus down. And I don't know how good I'll be, anyway. I've lost...a lot."

"I understand," Frank said quietly, and Dung knew he did. Few would, but those who had spent hellish weeks, months, or years in Azkaban did. Fletcher let out a long and slow breath, trying to calm the butterflies that had suddenly decided to waltz in his stomach.

"Give me until the end of the term. I'm sure Remus can find someone by then to replace me."

Frank smiled grimly. "Good man."

"Not really," Dung snorted, then managed to smile back. "Are you contacting the others, too?"

"Yes, I am. I came to you first, though."

"Ah."

The others, as both Frank and Dung knew, were Frank's fellow prisoners from Azkaban--while most of those Voldemort had kept alive in the prison had been political figures or personal enemies, seven of them had been Aurors, and of those seven, only four had returned to active service. Just as Dung had resigned two years before Azkaban was breeched, Amanda Pieters, Stephen Hoppner, and Amy Wortman had chosen to leave the Aurors. For the most part, the division had let them go. But times had changed, now, and the shattered Ministry of Magic needed all the Aurors it could get. He sighed.

"I understand."

Frank's smile grew relieved. "Thanks."

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Hestia crossed her arms over her chest and adopted a mulish expression that made Bill want to wince. The only reason he stopped himself was the fact that they weren't alone--Alice Longbottom wasn't quite as accustomed to Hestia's eccentricities as he was, and the last thing he needed was to spark an argument with Hestia now. Not only would doing so be grossly unprofessional, but it would also get in the way of what they were trying to get done. Even if he didn't agree with her.

"There's no sign of Pritchard," his fellow instructor said bluntly. "We've searched high and low, and come to the conclusion that he must held in some new location chosen by his captors."

"Or Azkaban," Bill added darkly, earning himself a sharp look from Hestia.

"I don't think he's there," she disagreed. "We have no evidence that Voldemort is keeping prisoners there again--"

"And none that he isn't," Bill countered, and then felt like slapping himself for sounding so argumentative. He and Hestia had been through this; there was no reason to do it again in front of Alice, especially when they had real news to report.

"Actually----"

"Never mind," he cut her off. "Go on."

Hestia nodded curtly; at least she knew when to quit. That was probably the only reason why the pair could argue so much and remain friends. "Right. At any rate, Bill and I checked out the Riddle House, Alice."

The other Auror's head snapped around to glare at them both. "Whatever possessed you to do that?" she demanded. "Both of you are experienced enough to know how many Aurors we've lost near that place! What in the world made you so reckless?"

"The fact that Minister Pritchard's life might prove to be more important than either of ours," Bill answered quietly, and saw some of Alice's anger fade. Slightly.

"Even then..." she growled, then shook herself. "Fine. You've clearly survived the experience, so tell me what you found."

"Nothing," Hestia answered promptly. "Or no sign of Minister Pritchard, anyway."

"But...?" Alice prompted.

"There was something else," Bill answered. "What, we don't know...and we agree on even less. But there was something--we watched the place for over twelve hours, and there were a lot of Death Eaters coming and going. More than we expected."

"Including the Lestranges," Hestia added darkly. "The live two, anyway."

Alice's eyebrows rose. It was no secret that Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange never left Azkaban, unless the Dark Lord was up to something especially devious. They were the only Death Eaters who lived on the island, and Bill knew from personal experience that neither Lestrange was especially sane. And even Voldemort didn't like using tools he could not control, so he rarely allowed the pair to prey on the world at large. Their instability was probably the only thing the Aurors and the Dark Lord agreed on, which meant their presence at the Riddle House was important.

"And?" Alice finally asked.

"And we don't know," Hestia admitted. "But there's something going on there."

Alice scowled for a moment before replying, "We'll check it out, then. Make sure you tell Sirius when you return to Avalon, and in the meantime, I'll put Dawlish on it. If anyone can find out what's going on there, he can."

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"Can you believe it?" Ron asked excitedly, as he and Harry hurried back from the Quidditch pitch, covered in mud and soaking wet. The rain had stopped, but the cloud-filled sky hinted that those circumstances might not last, and both boys wanted to get inside before getting hit by another downpour.

Harry grinned. "I told you that you'd make it."

"Yeah, but you should have heard what Fred and George were saying," Ron replied, scowling. "Stupid brothers."

"Yeah, well--" Harry started to speak, but was cut off when Hermione came flying in their direction. She wasn't nearly as wet as the boys, but her frizzy hair was definitely less wild than usual, which told Harry that she, too, had been caught by the storm.

"Did you make it?" she demanded, skidding to a stop in front of them. However, her balance wasn't quite up to countering the slippery ground, and Hermione's feet slipped out from under her, making her collapse with a splash at the boys feet. She howled, and mud flew everywhere.

Laughing, Harry and Ron helped her up, and caught her when she almost fell a second time.

"It's not funny!" Hermione objected.

Ron snorted. "Yes it is," he replied cheerfully. "And yeah, I made it. You're looking at Gryffindor's new Keeper!"

"That's wonderful, Ron," she grinned. "But you'd better make sure you don't ignore your homework the way Harry does--"

"Oh, don't start on that," Harry interrupted. "It's only the sixth day of classes, and I haven't forgotten anything yet!"

"That's because you haven't had any Quidditch practices, and tryouts were mostly on the weekends," Hermione countered reasonably.

"Oh, enough already," Ron broke in. "You're starting to sound like my mum."

"I'm not that bad."

"Not yet, you aren't," Ron muttered darkly, and Harry laughed. Hermione ignored him, but Harry thought he saw the slightest hint of a smile on her face. Together, the muddy second-years peeked through the front doors before they dared to step inside--old habits died hard, and the last person they needed to run into was Filch, especially when they were covered in mud. However, their luck held as they rushed up the stairs, finding the route to the Gryffindor common room was much more straightforward than usual. Harry frowned. It almost seemed as if the castle was speeding them along their way...but that was impossible. Why would Hogwarts do that?

"So, have you seen Fred and George?" he asked Hermione, more to forestall another spat between her and Ron than for any other reason. "They weren't at tryouts today."

She frowned. "I saw them talking to Professor Fletcher earlier, but I don't think they were in trouble."

"Well, that's a relief," Ron grinned. "Wouldn't want them starting anything without us."

"We won't be starting anything," a subdued voice suddenly interrupted, and Fred and George came around the corner, meeting the trio right in their common room.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stopped, and Harry felt a lump forming in his stomach. He had never seen Fred or George like this, not ever. Even in the worst of times, the twins were eternal optimists. But the empty hurt on both faces was impossible to miss, and Harry immediately knew that something was wrong.

"What?" Ron asked. "What happened?"

George swallowed. "Professor Fletcher let us Fire Call Lee when he didn't return our letters."

"We figured that his mum might have found out that we were going to come after him, and we wanted to apologize for getting him in trouble," Fred continued. "But it turns out that we shouldn't have bothered."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked warily, and George grimaced.

"Lee's gone," he replied. "His mum said he left on September first."

Hermione's eyes widened. "But that's--"

"He left when we didn't come," Fred said quietly. "Because he expected us and we didn't come."

"And no one knows where he is. We told Professor Fletcher everything after Mrs. Jordan said he hadn't come back. No one has seen him for ten days."

"Oh, no," Hermione whispered.

"He said he'd look for Lee," Fred said after a moment. "Professor Fletcher. But..." He shrugged, and the Misfits exchanged glances.

Harry swallowed back the sudden pain in his chest. "If Voldemort has him..." He could not finish.

"It's our fault," George said flatly, making the others' heads turn sharply. "Whatever happens."

"No, it isn't," Hermione objected. "The two of you just tried to help a friend, and we did as much as you."

"She's right," Ron piped up. "It's our fault as much as it's yours."

George shook his head. "It was our idea."

"And we were there right along beside you," Harry disagreed, swallowing. "We knew the risks. Or we should have, anyway."

"But we didn't," Hermione said quietly. "And what happens now?"

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Lee opened his eyes slowly, not wanting to, but knowing he had to anyway. He would have continued faking unconsciousness for as long as he could, but a small voice in his head argued that doing so would be a bad idea...especially since the louder voice outside his head was saying the same thing.

"Wakey, wakey, little boy," Bellatrix Lestrange giggled. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew it had to be her; he'd never seen her before that night...how long ago was that? The hours all blurred together. She hadn't spoken a word, then, simply stunned him into unconsciousness, but somehow he knew that the sing-song little voice had to be hers. It simply didn't fit anyone else.

A sharp-toed boot contacted abruptly with his ribcage, and Lee yelped. "Get up," another voice hissed. "Do you always lie so lazily in the presence of your betters?"

Groggily, Lee looked up into the twisted face of Rodolphus Lestrange--he recognized it from many Prophet articles detailing the couple's atrocities. The Death Eater stared back at him angrily, sneering, while his wife kicked Lee in the side again. Then, before he could even think of standing, the Lestranges reached down and dragged him to his feet. How long had he been there? He had no way to remember, but all the cold days in Azkaban whirled into one. For all he knew, it could have been years...

He shivered, thinking of the Dementors who floated near him during the night, and the long hours spent wondering what had happened and how he had come to be in Azkaban, the one place he had never thought he would end up. He didn't belong there. He was just a kid trying to get back to school. He just wanted to go back.

"Kneel, boy," a voice snapped, and an iron hand pressed down on his shoulder, forcing Lee to his knees.

But he barely noticed when his knees made hard contact with the stone floor, because he knew that voice. Lee knew those long fingered and pale hands--he had seen them mixing potions for the last three years. Blinking again, he craned his neck upwards to stare at a Death Eater's stark white mask and the cold black eyes behind it. Snape's hard hand remained locked on his shoulder, but that was not what hurt the most. But he's...

"He's not very bright, is he?" Bellatrix Lestrange giggled again.

"Enough, Bella."

The freezing cold voice was finally enough to tear Lee's eyes away from his Potions professor, but he soon wished he had not. He had never seen eyes glow red before.

Yet the voice turned strangely quiet. "Welcome to Azkaban, Lee Jordan."

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September 10, 1992

EVIL AMONG US

by Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent

Many long years ago, when two witches and two wizards created

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, they envisioned a

safe haven in which Wizarding children could learn and grow,

developing into responsible individuals who would lead our

world. But everyone knows the story of Gryffindor, Slytherin,

Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. We learn those tales as children.

What the world does not know is that there is evil in Hogwarts.

Death lurks within the great school's shadows, making those

who know yearn for the golden days before Death Eaters were

allowed to teach. Yes. Death Eaters.

Severus Snape, senior of the eighth of the Fourteen Families.

Long has the world wondered if this pureblooded and cold

professor has any ties to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but now

there is undeniable proof. Proof exists that the Deputy

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is

indeed a Death Eater--he is, in fact, one of the most loyal and

trusted followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Several of his

victims have come forward, and though they are terrified to have

their identities revealed, there is no doubt who their tormentor

was.

And yet one must wonder who else knows, that this icon of

Darkness is teaching at Hogwarts. Certainly, a wizard reputed to

be as intelligent and talented as Headmaster Remus J. Lupin

could not happen to miss the fact that his own deputy is a Death

Eater--but what if he does know? And, for that matter, is Snape

alone at Hogwarts?

There is no way to know, but parents beware. With Death

Eaters creeping in the ancient school's halls, there is no telling

who the next innocent victim will be. There is no way to

know who will suffer. Hundreds of parents sent their children to

Hogwarts this year, believing they would be safe. However, the

very presence of Severus Snape proves that this is a lie, and

with a monster like him on the loose, it is our children , our

future, that will suffer.

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"He is a Death Eater, you know," Frank said quietly, making Sirius' head turn. He was currently engrossed in Rowena Ravenclaw's massive work, On Avalon, which he had uncovered underneath a stack of miscellaneous papers and about a pound of dirt. Although the Aurors had returned to Avalon, the island had only been inhabited by students and instructors, one group of which was not allowed to explore, and the other had not the time to do so. So far, Sirius had only had time to unearth around a quarter of the treasures hidden in Avalon's vast library, and he had already found several gems.

"Of course he is," Sirius agreed. They were alone in the library; with Hestia and Bill still working on the Pritchard Case, and Kingsley administering the first tests of Phase III, the island seemed eerily quiet. Still, the two senior Aurors had talked of home and of hopes, until Frank brought the Daily Prophet article up.

"I imagine you saw him in Azkaban, or at least heard his voice there," he continued. "As I did."

"And he's a spy for the Order," Frank said quietly, making Sirius finally look up from On Avalon.

"Who told you that?" he asked, trying to keep his tone disinterested, but unable to completely do so.

"You did. Just now." Frank smiled slightly. "I wasn't sure, until you replied so casually that you knew he was a Death Eater."

"I should have known you were angling for something like that."

"Always." For a split second, the other's shadowed eyes twinkled. "I did not want to think of Remus as such a fool. Nor did I want to think of Snape as irredeemable."

Sirius arched his eyebrows curiously. "Oh?"

"You forget that I was a prefect during your second year," Frank replied. "I spent some quality time tutoring young Severus Snape when Professor McGonagall caught me and Alice in a...compromising situation. She decided that tutoring a Slytherin in Transfiguration was fitting punishment for such indiscretions."

"I never knew that," Sirius snickered.

"Few did. He wasn't exactly eager to admit he was doing poorly in Transfiguration, or that a Gryffindor prefect was tutoring him."

"I can imagine."

"Regardless, over the span of four months, I got to know him a little. Of course, he was a slimy and obnoxious little twit, but once I got beneath that...he was different." Frank shrugged. "He always struck me as someone searching for something to believe in. I always grieved that he found that in Voldemort."

"Hmm." Odd how the passage he had been reading had spoken about the differences between reality and perception. Rowena Ravenclaw had been a wise woman, indeed. 'In that what we see is often what we believe must be true, we fail to search beneath the surface and find what truly lies below.' Wise, yes, but entirely too cryptic. Sirius had a strange feeling that Ravenclaw would have liked Albus Dumbledore.

"How long has he been with us?" the other asked curiously. Sirius hesitated before answering, though, making Frank smile. "Never mind. I understand."

"Thank you."

'That which we are is often so very different from what we appear to be, and Avalon, as a world, is no different. Many years have I spent upon this island, and I have yet to understand all of its secrets. So much remains hidden on this Isle of Magic, especially as more and more forget what once was in an effort to predict what will be. What they fail to understand is that Avalon is neither past nor future, neither here nor there. Avalon will always be both more and less than it seems.'

"So, how long do you plan on staying?" Frank suddenly asked, interrupting Rowena Ravenclaw's words. It took Sirius a moment to register the question, for he'd been reading and thinking, knowing that there was a deeper meaning but unable to quite grasp it. He shrugged at first, thinking to offer a flippant answer...but Frank deserved better.

"Until I can stay no longer," he answered quietly.

Frank's head came up out of Protectors of an Empire: A History of the Earliest Aurors. "No longer?"

"There are things I must learn here. Things I must do." Even with Frank, who had shared many of Sirius' darkest experiences and even darker fears, he could not speak of what. No one knew, and no one would, until he had to tell those who most deserved to know. "The day I leave this island, Frank, will probably be the day I face Voldemort again."

Dark eyes met his openly. "Then I pray, my friend, that day comes when you will it. Not at his command."

There were no words to say, but Sirius nodded. Both knew that forcing Voldemort's hand was damn near impossible...but they also both knew that Sirius would have to try. Even if the effort killed him.

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