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 34

Chapter 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. Sequel to Promises Unbroken--the Wizarding World is on the edge of disaster, and darkness is on the rise.
Posted:
10/26/2004
Hits:
1,402

Promises Remembered

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Thirty-Four: Hope and Ashes

Frank turned away from the fire, swallowing. In the privacy of his quarters (the only rooms on Avalon, save the Old Suite, which possessed an unregulated fireplace), he could allow himself such open reactions. Elsewhere, he could not, and Frank knew that the mask of responsibility would have to slip back into place very soon. He had yet another sad tale to tell, and as accustomed to such duties as he was, Frank would never grow to accept them. Nor did experience ever lessen the pain of telling families that they had lost their loved ones.

Usually, he was breaking the news of an Auror's death to a bereaved family. This time, however, was different--and harder--because it was an example of their failure, of the Aurors' shortcomings. Of course, after so many years in the field, Frank knew that failures happened. Even the Aurors could not protect everyone...but Frank also knew that they had to try.

And fail, in this case. Fail bitterly.

He rose and walked around the desk, shoving hair out of his eyes. Alice was still reminding him that he really needed to get it cut, but there was no time. Besides, he had a hard time caring about his hair, a hard time concentrating on much of anything. Sirius had tried to give both Longbottoms time off to mourn, but husband and wife had each refused. Alice had grimly stated that her grief would only be cured by vengeance, while Frank had a bleaker outlook. He just wanted to bury himself in work, even though he knew it wouldn't work. He knew that from experience--everyone remembered that Edgar Bones had been the first Auror to fall to Lord Voldemort. Few recalled that Edward Longbottom had been the second. Frank had been fifteen, and his brother's death had driven him into the Aurors.

His mother's death, however, was far worse, and after Alice had arrived on Avalon, Frank had wanted to break down. He had always known that his mother would not die a tame death, and yet...he hadn't expected it now. Not like this. And the night before, he'd had a hundred nightmares about how it could have been Alice, too. He could have lost them both...

Frank slammed his office door, shaking himself out of the darkness. Not here. Not now. He could not afford to lose himself in the grief. There was too much work to be done and too much vengeance to be had. That thought brought sudden coldness, and Frank blinked. I'm not the only one who's going to want revenge, he realized. Not the only one by far.

The walk to the Student Quarters was short, especially for an instructor. As Frank had found out years before, tunnels crisscrossed the island, leading almost everywhere from the Main Villa out. He'd never quite understood their origin, but he was sure that they predated the Aurors from the construction and the artwork on some of the walls. The tunnel he slipped through was one of the decorated ones, with beautiful engravings of Muggle battles on one side, and a far off view of an island on the other. He was fairly sure that the island pictured was Avalon itself as seen from the sea, but Frank had no way to be sure. No Auror in living memory had approached the isle in a boat, which meant none of them really knew what the island looked like, a security precaution he was grateful for. Furthermore, mists obscured the engraved island, which made it even harder to identify but added to the aesthetic view.

Oddly enough, as beautiful as the artwork in the tunnels was, none of the paintings (and there were many of them) ever moved. They were almost like Muggle paintings, yet so much more alive, despite being frozen in time. Having grown up in Glen Ridge with over a hundred classically magical paintings, Frank found the stillness unsettling, and the silence even more so. Yet it was beautiful in an old and strange sort of way.

The tunnel ended at a plaster door, which swung open to admit him near the end of Class 4904's hallway. Avalon was capable of supporting up to five classes at one time; the five long corridors in the Student Quarters had a door for each candidate section's quarters. Sometimes, a class might have as many as ten sections, but those days were long past, and the Aurors simply could not have trained that many even if they'd had the volunteers. At the moment, though, numbers were not Frank's mission.

He strode halfway down the hall and stopped in front of an unnumbered door, knocking without hesitation. No rooms on Avalon were numbered, though some did have names--Section 4 of 4904 had no idea that their common area and rooms had always been called the Bull Rooms, and Frank had no idea why the name existed at all. Still, stranger things happened on Avalon.

The door opened quickly, revealing young Cornelia Crouch. Restrained surprise flashed across her face at the presence of her class's senior instructor, yet she handled herself well.

"May I help you, sir?" she asked quickly.

"Yes. Is Candidate Clearwater here?" Frank asked quietly, grateful, for once, that candidates on Avalon did not receive newspapers or other sources of public information. Aurors deserved to hear bad tidings from other Aurors--not from Rita Skeeter.

"I believe he's studying. Would you like to come in?"

Frank nodded mutely as Crouch stepped aside, admitting him to the spacious common room. Crouch closed the door behind Frank quietly, and he must have been showing more emotion than he preferred to, because her face turned carefully blank as she skillfully concealed her sudden worry.

"I'll go get him," she said quietly.

"Thank you."

Across the room, Nymphadora Tonks looked up, reading her comrade's face and biting her lip. She was a smart girl, despite her clumsiness--if not for that, Frank knew that young Tonks would be at the top of this class instead of the young wizard Crouch was off to fetch. Outwardly, Tonks seemed to lack the maturity that her fellows possessed, but Frank suspected that there was steel beneath the nonchalant exterior. She was also perceptive enough to step into a side room, summoning the others in her candidate section. Clearwater would need them, Frank knew, and he was glad that Tonks had seen that.

Moments later, Crouch returned, with a confused Clearwater on her heels. The others lurked in the corner Tonks had occupied moments before, pretending to be interested in the book she had open, but Lockhart kept shooting worried glances in Clearwater's direction, and Frank knew they weren't fooled.

"Is there something wrong?" Clearwater asked immediately, looking more mystified than nervous. Frank took a deep breath.

"Sit down, Jason." He spoke quietly, using the younger man's name for the first time. Usually, he was obsessively formal in his relationships with the candidates, but Class 4904 would graduate in a week, and this was not a moment to draw lines between candidates and instructors. Aurors were Aurors.

Slowly, Frank lowered himself onto the couch across from Clearwater's chosen chair. "I don't know an easy way to say this," he told the wide-eyed boy, "so I just will."

Crouch's eyes widened, and the senior instructor saw her step closer to Clearwater's back. Frank took a final deep breath.

"Your family died last night, Jason," he said gently. "They were attacked by Death Eaters and tortured."

Aurors did not lie to one other, but Frank almost wished he had. Clearwater's face went stark white, and for a moment, the older Auror thought that he might burst into tears. Crouch's hands landed on his shoulders as the others approached, and Clearwater took a shuddering breath. His voice was a ragged whisper. "What else do we know?"

"Not much," Frank admitted. "There was a message, on the table..." Clearwater didn't yet need to know that the message had been carved into the blood-soaked wood. "...It said 'this is what happens to those who resist.'"

"What?" Crouch demanded, even as Clearwater stumbled over the answer.

"But they weren't invol..." he trailed off, his voice breaking. Brown eyes widened, and he gulped. "You think it was directed at me?"

"Yes." Frank swallowed, too. "I'm sorry, Jason. We never thought that they'd target candidates' families...."

He stopped, knowing that Clearwater wasn't listening, wasn't caring. Frank wished he could say that he knew how Jason felt, but he knew that, no matter how true the words were, they would be meaningless. He was not a friend, not family. He could bring news, but his words would offer little comfort. Doing that would be a job for Jason's friends.

"When you're ready, you may use the fire to call your sister," Frank said gently. "Talk however long you like. You're excused from today's training."

"Thank you." The response was hollow, but at least it was a response. Frank thought of saying more, but instead he nodded, noticing that the others were already closing in to help. Slowly, the instructor rose, meeting Tonks' eyes as he did so. She nodded back solemnly, and he left.

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

"This might work," Snape said quietly, then shrugged. "But I can make no promises."

James, sitting in an overstuffed armchair, nodded. His wheelchair was tucked unobtrusively in the corner behind him, hopefully never to be used again. "I understand." He swirled the potion around in the silver goblet, clearly playing with it to buy time. "But I thank you anyway. For trying."

"Thank me when you can feel your legs again," Severus replied gruffly. "Otherwise, I'll get back to work."

It had taken him four days of brewing potions, during which he slept little and paid attention to his students even less. But he was finished, now, and it was worth finding out. They would probably never be friends, he and James Potter, but the two had learned to respect one another over the years, which was a far cry from the humiliation and hatred of their Hogwarts days. True, both had been guilty of many things back then--but the past was the past, and the two wizards had moved on enough that Severus' words were very sincere. If nothing else, their world needed men like James Potter, and that was enough.

"Should I drink it now?" James asked tightly, obviously wishing he could hide the anxiety he felt. Lily sensed it, though, and squeezed his free hand. Snape nodded, trying not to smile. Their situation was really no laughing matter, but James and Lily's relationship was. Had there ever been a less likely marriage, it was that one, but even he could not argue that it had failed. Severus had rarely seen a pair who were so close or so well fitted for one another...he only hoped that someday, somehow, he might find something similar of his own. Still, the fact that they hadn't killed each other yet never ceased to amaze him.

"The potion is ready," he replied, and James began to drink. Surprise crossed his face almost immediately; obviously he'd been expecting Severus' potion to taste as foul as Blackwood's had, but perfection was a matter of professional pride for Severus Snape, and nauseating potions were not perfect. Few potions required a foul taste, and this was simply not one of them.

Severus tried not to smirk, and managed to kill the expression until it toned down to something approaching a sneer. Lily, however, was watching her husband gravely, and the worry on her face sobered the Potions Master immediately. Too much depended upon this moment to laugh.

James polished off the potion and set the goblet down, his left hand still held in Lily's right. For some reason, Severus found himself unable to watch Lily's face; instead, he focused on James' wary features and waited. His old enemy seemed to be holding his breath, waiting, hoping, and wondering, until finally Snape could stand the silence no longer. "Breathe, James," he said. "Lack of oxygen is likely to make the potion less effective, not more."

"Oh." James' face went beet red, and even Lily giggled in a short explosion of pent-up tension. With others, Snape's sarcasm might have been misunderstood, but these two had known him for too long. They understood that it was reflex, and neither took his caustic tone personally. The Minister of Magic glanced up at him. "Right."

He could see the question on James' face, the one he would not ask. "You want to know how long it will be before you know," the Potions Master stated.

James nodded mutely, and Snape thought he saw Lily bite her lip.

"I'm not sure," he admitted, shrugging. "I had to mix several formulas in order to nullify the effects of her...concoction. My work lacks precedents, so there is no way to know exactly how long it will take.

"However, I estimate ten minutes," he concluded just as James started to frown. "Maybe less."

"That short?" the other wizard asked breathlessly.

"I hope so," Severus breathed, and the others nodded. There was nothing to do but hope...except waiting. Out of the three of them, Snape was possibly the most patient; however, he hated idleness. He hated simply waiting, waiting without knowing what was to come. A wise man might have once said that the sum of human wisdom was contained in the simple words of "wait and hope," but at the moment, Severus found that fact to be a distinctive pain in the posterior.

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

"We missed you at breakfast," the unexpected voice said from behind him, making Sirius turn around. He had abandoned his five day stint in Lab Six, heading out across the island early that morning and wandering wherever his feet took him. Sirius had ended up just north of Avalon's Dueling Areas, where he had promptly seated himself on the grass and tried to answer all the questions he had been asking himself. However, when that quest had proven futile, Sirius had found himself wandering towards the Labyrinth, which he now stared at blankly, wondering what good it might do him.

Or he had been staring at it, anyway, until Bill Weasley walked up.

"Oh?" Sirius responded, trying to sound noncommittal.

The answering smile was almost innocent in its mixture of apology and cynicism. "Well, we've missed you for the past week, actually," Bill replied.

"I went to breakfast on Tuesday," Sirius objected, smiling despite himself.

"Yes. On Tuesday." Bill snorted. "Need I remind you that today is Sunday, which comes five mornings after Tuesday?"

"Or two before, depending upon your point of view."

Bill rolled his eyes, but there was a smile lurking behind his sarcastic exterior. "Oh, please don't start with that 'certain point of view' trash. It's been done already."

"Come again?"

"Never mind," the other Auror chucked suddenly. "The quote is from a Muggle motion picture that an old girlfriend of mine was hung up on."

"Star Wars?" Sirius asked curiously.

"You've seen it?"

"'Course I have. Lily made James take her to the first one, then he turned around and dragged us."

Bill laughed. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."

"What, James liking a story that involves light swords and flying things?" Sirius grinned.

"I was thinking more of you and flying vehicles," the other replied pointedly, but Sirius only chuckled. He'd set out to be alone that morning, but he was discovering that company wasn't such an awful thing. Or, he amended mentally, this company. If Adam wanders up, I'm Apparating off this damn island and hunting down Voldemort, risks be damned. That's definitely safer than listening to his twenty questions!

It was strange how he'd managed to form a friendship with Bill Weasley; on the surface, the two of them couldn't have been much more different. Though both were the product of old pureblood families, Sirius was a born rebel (traitor was the word his mother had used, but rebel sounded much more romantic) while Bill took pride in his family name and strived to make his parents proud. He'd been a brilliant achiever at Hogwarts, and had even left Gryffindor's Quidditch team in order to concentrate on his grades and on being Head Boy. Sirius, on the other hand, had been the type of rogue even Albus Dumbledore would not make a prefect, and had made even James' reckless streak look tame. He had done almost everything Bill would never even contemplate risking, and had earned the detentions to prove it. Meanwhile, Bill had been one of Hogwarts' best in nearly every category. Upon graduation, the oldest Weasley had gained easy admittance to the Aurors, having earned a position that Sirius had to fight to get.

However, that was the past, and both men had made choices since then. Important choices.

Those choices had made them similar, but more importantly, they had made Sirius Black and Bill Weasley friends. Even if their mutual dedication to the Aurors had not, their time in Azkaban would have bound them in some way, no matter how small. Yet their understanding was not the same as the one Sirius shared with Dung Fletcher, Adam MacMillan, Jessica Avery, or even Frank Longbottom--similar reckless streaks and a shared hard-edged Mentor had done that. Deep down, the two were much more alike than met the eye, and the past few months had made Sirius realize that.

His chuckle faded into a slight smile. It was good to be understood, no matter how small the ways.

"Speaking of you," Bill said in the silence, "we missed you at breakfast."

"You said that already," Sirius replied evasively.

The younger man snorted. "I know I did. And you changed the subject."

"Oops." Sirius didn't bother to sound innocent; doing so would not have worked, anyway. "I wasn't hungry."

"Since Tuesday?" Bill asked dubiously. "You haven't come to any meals."

"I've eaten." He shrugged.

"I don't doubt that. But not with company." Bill paused, and then continued after taking a deep breath. "Adam thinks you're hiding something, Sirius. He's mentioned it several times."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. We brushed it off the first few, but he's getting more persistent. What worries him most, I think, is that no one seems to know. Even Frank."

"Yet Frank isn't talking to me," Sirius replied, arching an eyebrow. "Why you? Did you draw the short straw?"

Bill scowled. "No. No one asked me to." His face darkened slightly, and he hesitated before adding "I just figured that, well..."

"That what?" Sirius asked, unable to keep the coldness out of his voice. What has Adam said? Bill had become a friend, yes, but did he understand? There was something lurking behind his words, something mistrustful and worried.

"Never mind." Until the defensive response, Sirius hadn't realized how hard his tone had become. Bill fell back a half step, then shrugged. "I guess it isn't important."

That did it. Immediately, Sirius knew that whatever Adam had passed along, it hadn't been the whole truth. Five days before, when Adam had stumbled upon Sirius working Dark Magic, the senior Auror had written off the sensation by explaining that he was using old magic, which was easy to confuse with the darker variety because distinctive lines had not existed between dark and light magic in the past. At the time, Sirius had thought that Adam accepted his explanation--the other Auror had seemed very relieved, and had left shortly afterwards. Now, though, he was not so sure. Alarms were starting to ring in Sirius' ears. What is he playing at?

"No." The single word stopped Bill in his tracks just as he was about to turn away. "Ask your question."

Bill swallowed, but his voice was low and earnest. "Look, Sirius," he said quickly, "I trust you. I know that whatever you're doing, you're doing it for a reason, but others here aren't so sure. For days, Adam had been hinting that you were up to something, but today he 'let slip' that you were working Dark Magic."

A far off bird chirped in the sudden silence.

Coldness washed over Sirius, and he fought the urge to gulp. He'd been wrong about Adam--what else was he wrong about? Avoiding the others had seemed like a good idea; their presence was a distraction, at best, while he worked with spells that he was hard pressed to understand. But had avoiding them given Adam time to spread discontent? Had it made him seem guilty? He tried not to snort. I am guilty.

Sirius had been exposed to Dark Magic for almost his entire life, though its use hadn't always been labeled that way. He understood it, and recognized it easily, but had never used it. Doing so, he had learned, made him feel dirty. Unfortunately, so did lying to those who trusted him, and both had become necessities.

"Are you, Sirius?" Bill asked quietly, jerking him out of his reverie.

This time, he did have to swallow. "What would you say if I said yes?" he temporized, knowing that doing so was a good as an affirmation, but he could not stand to admit it.

"I would hope that you'd trust us not to come to conclusions, and to understand that you're acting for a reason," the other replied without hesitation.

"You would. What of the others?" Asking was a sign of weakness, but he had to.

"All of us," Bill said levelly.

Sirius snorted. "And Adam, then?"

"Adam is...different now," Bill sighed. "Azkaban changed him. He's more paranoid than he used to be."

"I've noticed," Sirius replied dryly.

"You didn't answer my question," Bill prodded him gently, and Sirius shrugged.

"I think you know the answer," he breathed.

"You're trying to stop him, aren't you? You're going to use Dark Magic against him."

"No. And yes." Taking a deep breath, Sirius lifted his left arm. He didn't have to pull his sleeve back; they both knew what was there. "This gives me a connection to him, Bill. It changes who I am and how I do magic."

"But you've had it for four years."

"I know." Breathe in. Breathe out. He almost expected to hear the cold and mocking voice echoing in his mind, but there was nothing except emptiness. Odd, how emptiness could be almost as disturbing as the tainted feel of the Mark, especially with this coldness engulfing his soul. "And it has changed me."

There weren't words to explain how, or a way to describe his choice. My choice. My consequences. My business. Bill need not know what drove Sirius to use Dark Magic. Only one other person did, and oddly enough, Voldemort was probably the only man who would ever understand why Sirius had chosen that road. He shuddered.

"Are you alright?"

Sirius blinked. "I'm fine. I was just thinking." Thinking about how well and how little Voldemort knows me. Both, however, are frightening...and there were moments in Azkaban that I think confused him as much as they confused me.

"Oh." There was another moment of silence, and then Bill tried to smile. "While you're thinking, we have another problem. Aside from Adam."

"Is there?" Sirius turned his head, looking in Bill's eyes and seeing worry there, not doubt. Bill trusted him--and that scared Sirius more than doubt ever could. But there was no time for uncertainty, no time for hesitation. Something was prickling at the edge of his mind, but he could not yet tell what. "Thank you, Bill," he added before the other could continue. "For the warning. I'll talk to Adam."

"No problem," Bill replied, before frowning. "The other problem, I fear, is more complicated. We may have a traitor in our midst."

"What?"

Bill's answering nod was grim. "Yes. The other night, Ms. Tonks saw--"

"On Avalon?" Sirius demanded, cutting him off.

"On Avalon," the other confirmed. "Frank asked me not to tell anyone, but I'm sure he didn't mean you."

"Ah." He'd been too caught up in his own work to see it, but Sirius' mind was whirling now. Ever so slowly, the pieces were starting to come together... "Tell me what happened."

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

"D'you think that Percy has been acting odd lately?" Ron asked his brothers over breakfast in the Great Hall that Sunday morning.

"Eurp," Fred replied through his orange juice. He swallowed messily. "Err, yes."

The Misfits snickered together, and then Harry added, "You drooled on yourself, Fred."

"What--ack!" W hat he hadn't noticed was the juice decorating the front of his school robes. Then Fred scowled. "What was that cleaning charm again?"

Hermione stretched her wand out without bothering to explain. "Scourgify."

"Thanks, Hermione. I never can remember that one."

"You might if you spent more time studying than creating pranks," she replied lightly.

"You're one to talk!" George snorted. "Look what you got us into last night."

"No, I was the one who got us out of what Ginny got us into," Hermione retorted. "If you're going to make fun of someone, George, at least get your facts straight."

"Girls. You're all the same."

"At least we girls have noticed why Percy is acting funny," Ginny shot back.

Ron's head snapped around. "Why?"

"Why do you care?" George wondered, stuffing breakfast into his mouth at an alarming pace. Even after sitting with him for over a year, Harry was still amazed at the amount of food George could inhale--rate of food consumption was an excellent way to tell the twins apart, especially at meals. While Fred almost always managed to spill something on someone, George simply seemed to Disapparate food straight into his stomach.

"I'm curious, that's all," Ron retorted. "Aren't you?"

"Curious about what dear perfect brother Percy is doing with his perfect Prefect friends?" George echoed.

"Oh, come off it, George," Harry broke in. "Let's hear why."

Ginny grinned as George scowled. "Fine then," the fast-eating twin groused. "Get it over with."

"He hasn't been with his friends, anyway," Hermione pointed out. "He's been walking around with Penelope Clearwater for days."

"Clearwater?" Fred repeated. "The Ravenclaw girl whose family died?"

Ginny nodded. "I saw her crying on his shoulder on Wednesday morning. After the article came out."

"Crying? With Percy?" Ron demanded. "He's about as compassionate as a manticore!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, then glanced Ginny's way. "Aren't boys daft?" she asked.

"Oh, definitely."

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry replied dryly, just as Ron asked,

"Why are we so daft?"

The girls burst out laughing, but Fred snorted. "And what do you know that we don't?"

"They're dating, you idiot," Ginny giggled. "That's why he's been acting so funny." She sobered quickly. "Because he's trying to help her."

"Oh." The good mood faded with those words, and the Misfits exchanged glances. First Lee was gone, then Penelope's family was killed, and now Neville's grandmother... There were moments when Harry wondered if the war would ever end--and if it did, who would be alive to see it? How many more of them would end up like Lee, locked up in Azkaban and without hope?

Harry swallowed. Professor Fletcher had promised that they were doing all they could, but Harry knew how hard it was to break into Azkaban. The Aurors had done so once, but Voldemort would simply be waiting for them to try a second time. Also, Harry had grown up as the son of an Auror. He knew that, as cold as it sounded, that one boy, no matter how important he was to his friends, would not be enough reason to mount a rescue mission. It was a horrible outlook, but the world wasn't perfect...and Harry had a bad feeling that one of his best friends had just become a casualty of war.

By the looks on the others' faces, he could see that they were thinking the same thing, and not one of them liked it. Something had to be done, he knew. But what?

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

"Something should have happened by now," Lily said quietly, hating to sound so dejected but unable to stop herself. Fifteen minutes had passed, then another fifteen, until almost an hour later, Snape's potion had no effect. James was still sitting in the armchair, trying to appear unconcerned, but Lily could see the worry in his eyes.

Severus sighed. "Yes," he admitted. "There should have been some effect by now..." He turned to James. "Can you feel anything? Anything at all?"

"Not any more than I could yesterday," James replied quietly. "Ever since I stopped taking Martha's potion, I've felt a bit of a twinge here and there, but not anything solid."

"Hm." Severus frowned, and Lily could see him calculating silently. "The only reason I can think of is that you might have an accumulation of the poison in your system, or that your original injury might have been bad enough to cause this. Still...cases of permanent paralysis are very rare. I cannot be sure without access to your St. Mungo's records, but I doubt this is one of them. Perhaps another St. Mungo's healer...?"

"No," James replied firmly, making Lily frown. She'd tried broaching this subject with her husband the night before, and had been shot down just as quickly. They'd argued for hours, but his answer had still been the same. No healers. He did not trust them. For any further work, he would turn to Snape or Madam Pomfrey, period.

"I am far from an expert in the healing field," he pointed out.

"But you are an expert on potions," James countered, "and you said yourself that this is probably caused by Martha's potion. Poison."

"Probably," Severus stressed.

"I know. But I trust you," James replied. "And the so-called experts from St. Mungo's aren't exactly inspiring me with confidence lately."

It was odd to hear how James now trusted the man he had once hated so much, and that Snape would now try so hard to help him. Back when they had been bitter enemies, Lily could never have imagined this conversation taking place, could never have thought that the two could look each other in the eyes and see not only allies, but friends. They had all changed since childhood; somehow, the world had come full circle. Perhaps it was an indication that the bonds forged by friendship could always be stronger than hatred, than evil. Perhaps it meant that all was not lost.

"I'll keep trying," Snape said thoughtfully, absently twirling his wand between two fingers. "There are other options. It's simply a question of finding which one works."

Or of finding Martha Blackwood and hexing the answers out of her, Lily thought darkly, almost wishing that they could. Unfortunately, James' healer had completely disappeared; the moment Lily had contacted St. Mungo's in search of her, she had been told that Healer Blackwood was on indefinite leave of absence due to a death in the family. Snape, however, had been practical enough to point out that Martha's only family member was her older brother, Osborne, and he was definitely still alive. Like Severus (and James, for that matter), Osborne was the senior member of one of the Fourteen, which meant Snape would have heard of his death. The fact that Martha had lied, however, revealed nothing. She was still gone, and without her knowledge, there was no easy way to counter her work.

So James was stuck. Still. Lily could see the pain on his face, could see him struggling to face the situation optimistically. Thinking that he had been hurt had been bad enough; knowing he had been poisoned made him feel even more helpless. James rarely admitted how much being confined to a wheelchair bothered him, but Lily knew. He'd always hated to sit still; for as long as she had known him, James had always been active. He'd played Quidditch incessantly, then he had become an Auror--but now he was prevented from doing either of his loves, and beneath the surface, it drove him crazy.

Lily only hoped that Severus could find a solution before they all went insane.

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

Sirius felt rather out of place walking into the Tor. Friendly faces lined the circular room, some standing against the walls and other sitting around the U-shaped table, many of which nodded to him in greeting, smiling here and there. The Tor was the Auror's formal meeting place on Avalon, and Sirius had been there many times before, but he still felt like an outsider. He saw what others did not intend him to see. Behind the smiles lurked wariness, mistrust...and even fear, in a few cases. What has Adam told you? he wanted to demand. But Sirius did not. This meeting was too important for that.

Derek Dawlish and Oscar Whitenack entered the Tor right on his heels, and Sirius felt the interested stares shift to those two. Everyone knew that the pair had entered the Riddle House without permission and had found something, but the results of their unauthorized reconnaissance had been overshadowed by the attacks on the Longbottoms and the Clearwaters. As important as those results might have been, immediate problems needed immediate help, and everyone knew that Oscar and Derek had escaped completely unscathed before the Death Eaters returned. Thus, their information got lost in the shuffle of death and fear. Even the Aurors were not free from panic, and Voldemort's message had been poignant. Families were now targets.

Also, Alice, who would normally have driven the problem, had to face loses of her own. Sirius' able deputy had fallen out of the loop as she tried to put her life back together and her husband buried himself in his work, which left the able intruders with no direct chain of command to turn to. Eventually, Dawlish had approached Sirius with their report, which had in turn brought all the Aurors to this meeting in the Tor.

Few faces were missing. Glancing around, Sirius could see friends and colleagues that he hadn't spoken to since before the Diagon Alley attack, and he knew that they were watching him with as much, if not more, trepidation than the others. Dozens of eyes followed him, yet not nearly enough--although they were struggling to rebuild, the Aurors had been hit hard. There were still not enough of them to meet the needs of a peacetime Ministry, and at war...there were never enough. But they were strong, and stronger still when they were together like this.

Most conspicuous were the absent Aurors. James, of course, had not come; although they still considered the Minister of Magic as one of their own, he was technically classified as inactive, unable to contribute in the field. Wheelchair bound or not, James would have fallen in that category, but Sirius still missed him. Also missing were the other inactive Aurors, individuals whom Sirius dearly wished would return. The list was short; few were those who decided not to return to the Aurors after capture, but their names were noteworthy. Dung Fletcher, Amanda Pieters, Stephen Hoppner, and Amy Wortman were still missing, though Dung had promised to return in the next year. Stephen Hoppner was also wavering, pressured by his cousin, Alice Longbottom, but he had yet to make a decision, and Sirius missed him as much as the others. Four powerful allies were rotting on the sidelines, holding down jobs far below their abilities: a teacher, a historian, an author and an unimportant flunkie in the Department of Magical Transportation. Yet they feared to choose, and a small corner of Sirius agreed with them. Fear, he understood well.

Others were absent as well, but the active Aurors were gone because of special circumstances or other missions. Taylor Hall was at his three-year-old girl's birthday party, Austin Fenwick accompanying the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports to discussions about the possibilities of holding the Quidditch World Cup in Britain--provided the war ended--and Missy Erickson was in St. Mungo's, nursing a shattered arm from a raid the week before. But those were the only missing Aurors, and Sirius was glad to see that everyone else had heeded his summons. Fifteen expectant faces studied him, but they were the familiar faces. The less familiar ones were those who Sirius had shocked the others by insisting were present--the members of Auror Candidate Class 4904, who were four days away from being chosen by Mentors and moving out into the real world. Alice had objected, but Sirius felt that this was important; like the others, the candidates deserved to know.

And they were watching him with even more nervousness than the full Aurors, not sure what was going on or what part they would play. Few of his Aurors actually knew the reason behind this meeting, but the candidates were more in the dark than most. Sirius cleared his throat.

"Please sit down," he said. "I think we may be here for awhile."

Chairs scraped as almost everyone complied with his request; a few defiant individuals kept leaning against the wall, including Hestia Jones, who threw a conspiratorial wink in Sirius' direction as he sat down. She was watching the candidates, he noticed, but the wink still shocked him. Jones wasn't exactly a friend, but she had, at least, become a trusted ally.

"Before I say anything else, I will turn the floor over to Derek Dawlish to describe what he and Oscar Whitenack uncovered at the Riddle House. Their discoveries are the reason for this unorthodox meeting." Sirius turned. "Derek?"

Dawlish stood, stealing a sip of water before speaking. Never one to voice formalities, he launched straight into the details. "As you all know, my team was assigned to investigate the recent increase in activity at the Riddle House. The Riddle House is a location that the Aurors have watched for years, ever since the Ministry recognized it as one of Lord Voldemort's early staging points. However, until recently the house remained empty. Weeds grew, but nothing more interesting happened. Until now.

"Oscar and I were on watch, following up on Bill and Hestia's initial discovery. Having established that the Death Eaters had left, we proceeded to investigate. The results of our search, however, were not what we expected them to be." He paused, glancing around the table and studying faces. Sirius did the same, noticing that every eye except for his was riveted on Derek Dawlish. In the five days since Oscar and Derek's illicit reconnaissance, everyone had heard that something had happened, though no one knew what and everyone was eager to find out. Derek finally continued:

"Upon entering the Riddle House, Oscar and I had already made several assumptions. One: that there was a heretofore unknown prisoner being held in the house, either because Voldemort no longer trusted Azkaban's security or to keep the individual's existence a secret. Two: that said prisoner was being tortured, judging from the screams heard from the house and from the presence of Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange. Three: that the Death Eaters had departed, owing to the lack of screams and sudden stillness. Four, and most importantly: that this prisoner was of some significance to Voldemort, which indicated a need on our part to act quickly.

"We broke into the house without knowing if the prisoner was present or not. Oscar witnessed Mulciber, Flint, and Rodolphus Lestrange departing with a vaguely human-sized package, which led us to believe that the house was completely empty. While it is possible that their 'package' was intended as a ruse, there is no evidence that they were aware of being watched."

Derek took another sip of water. "We did not find the prisoner," he said bluntly, and Sirius saw the wild hope fade from several faces. Every witch and wizard in that room had lost a close friend or a loved one during the war, and each one of them had dared to hope, just for a moment, that the mystery prisoner might be the one they missed most of all.

Sirius resisted the urge to snort. Knowing what he knew, Dawlish's evidence pointed at something even more extraordinary.

"We did, however, find evidence of a prisoner within the Riddle House's dungeons. This evidence consisted of dried and fresh blood, high security wards, some torn clothing, fragments of a broken wand, and a magical eye."

A ripple of surprise raced around the room, and Sirius heard several people gasp. To his left, Bill Weasley looked as if someone had kicked him in the stomach; his eyes were wide and his face was horridly pale. Several others were simply holding their breaths while Frank frowned and Hestia scowled. The candidates just stared, having not come to the same conclusion that everyone else found unavoidable--but then again, most of them were too young to remember.

"While nothing tells us exactly who the mystery prisoner is, Francine Hoyt"--he nodded in her direction--"has been analyzing the wand fragments for any trace of the user. Francine?"

The older woman stood, nodding to acknowledge her colleagues. "I've been working on the wand for several days, but due to its battered condition, I have only been able to establish two things. While I cannot yet pinpoint the owner, I do know that all the fragments came from the same wand, and its owner was--or is, assuming they are still alive--not a Death Eater. I can say with certainty that it is not the wand of a dark magic user, and--"

"Moody," Striker Williamson interjected. "It has to be Moody."

Heads bobbed in agreement, and when Francine tried to interject, she was overshadowed by thirty-five excited voices talking all at the same time. Sirius caught her unhappy frown, though, and remembered. Francine was the oldest of the living Aurors and had been a good friend of Alastor's (some said more than just a friend) despite the fact that she hadn't entered the Aurors until she was almost thirty years old. She was their leading forensic expert, having transferred over from the Department of Mysteries and knowing all kinds of complicated ways to pick problems apart. But if she had doubts...Sirius shook his head and hoped that everyone would just shut up, but the others kept babbling.

"Between the wand and the magical eye, it simply has to be," Striker argued. He'd been Moody's last student before the tough Auror had been taken down, and was obviously still burning for revenge. Revenge, Sirius mused. Just like the rest of us.

"I agree," Jessica Avery, another Moody protégée, replied. "There have been very few wizards who ever needed a replacement eye, much less one like Moody's. His was--is--unique. It ought to be easy to recognize."

"And I'm sure that the Death Eaters wouldn't let him keep an eye that can see through things," Fred Randolph pointed out sensibly.

"Well, you see--" Francine tried to rein in the excitement, but Adam McMillan cut her off.

"Does the eye match, Francine?"

"Yes, but that's hardly the point," she replied.

"Why would it not be?" Striker interceded again, grinning from ear to ear. His expression was mirrored on many a face; Sirius saw very few sober expressions. Even the candidates had become excited at hearing that one of their heroes was alive. Alastor Moody had long since been the standard Aurors were held to; much of the "normal" Wizarding world viewed him as strange, but the Aurors idolized him. He was the best, and always had been. It had taken eighteen Dementors and the Dark Lord to kill him. Moody had been everything every Auror ever dreamed of being.

"The more important question is what we do about this," Jessica said. Her dark eyes were shining, and Jessica was usually the sensible sort. She never jumped into the water without first casting a Flotation Charm, but the enthusiasm was contagious.

"We get him out, of course," Adam replied promptly. Heads nodded emphatically as he spoke.

"But where is he now?" Striker wanted to know. "Azkaban?"

"Probably," Jessica growled, her eyes suddenly cold. Like Sirius, Frank, Bill, and Adam, Jessica had been held in the Wizarding prison. She'd only spent three months there, but her situation was a little different. None of the other Aurors had a Death Eater for a brother--or she had, anyway, until Sirius had killed him during the attack on Grimmauld Place. Jessica, fortunately, was not one to hold a grudge, especially when she'd hated her brother with an all-consuming passion that rivaled Sirius' hatred for Voldemort.

"That complicates matters," Fred muttered thoughtfully.

"Only so much." Surprisingly, it was Jason Clearwater, seemingly emerging out of his grief for the first time and becoming the first of the candidates to speak up. "We've gotten in before. It'd be fairly simple to do the same thing twi--"

"Not that simple," Alice interjected, frowning. "Circumstances are different now."

"How so?" Clearwater retorted. "The prison is still guarded by Dementors and Death Eaters. The Dark Lord lives there. So what if there aren't as many prisoners? We can still do it."

"Speak for yourself, lad," Derek replied. "We went in there with a lot of strength last time, and we still nearly lost. While I'm not against action, we need a better plan than assaulting Azkaban with fifteen Aurors."

"Thirty-five," Calvin Waters cut in, emboldened by Clearwater's actions. "Don't forget us."

Derek scowled. "The--"

"I think we're getting ahead of ourselves," Bill interrupted. "We have no confirmation whatsoever that Moody is alive, and even if we did, we don't know he's in Azkaban. I'd like to find him as much as anyone else, but there are other questions that need to be asked." He turned to Francine. "Do the wand fragments match?" he asked. "Ebony and..." Bill trailed off, his brow scrunching up as he struggled to remember. It had been eight years, after all.

"Unicorn hair," Sirius finished, speaking for the first time since the argument began. "Ebony and the hair from a black unicorn."

Far longer had passed since he'd been Alastor Moody's pupil, but there were some things that one simply did not forget. They'd called him Moody's star more than once, playing off his name and his close relationship with his teacher, but it had been true. Once, just once, Alastor had called Sirius his best student--it had been when he thought Sirius wasn't listening, of course, but he had all the same. And Sirius had been closer to the cranky old Auror than he'd ever thought possible. He'd learned so much, and lost so much...and like the others, he very much wanted to believe.

"Does it match, Francine?" Mucia Coleman spoke up curiously.

Francine sighed. "Perhaps. The wood is ebony, but if the unicorn hair is black or not is hard to tell, given the wand's condition."

"Close enough," someone breathed. Sirius couldn't tell who.

"You see?" Striker demanded. "That's such a unique combination that it has to be Moody."

"So, then we're back to the original question," Adam agreed. "What do we do?"

Hestia snorted before anyone could respond. "I hate to break up the excitement," she said pointedly. "But in case you've all forgotten, Alastor Moody is dead."

"We thought he was," Striker corrected her. Hestia rolled her eyes and started to respond, but was cut off by Waters again.

"Everyone thought he was dead, too," the candidate pointed out, gesturing at Sirius. "Obviously, we've been wrong before."

"Yes, but twice?" Hestia countered. "Once was simply incredible. Two is almost impossible."

"Besides, do you really think that Alastor Moody could be kept a prisoner for four years?" Alice asked, reentering the conversation.

"I think anything is possible," Bill said quietly. "There are ways to hold anyone..." Something dark flashed through his eyes, but no one except Sirius seemed to spot it. The red-haired instructor shrugged. "I'm not saying that I agree with the assumption that it must be Moody, but it's a persuasive argument. One worth investigating, at the very least."

"Alastor's dead," Sirius cut him off flatly, wishing that his voice didn't sound so empty, but having let the argument go on long enough.

Heads snapped around to glare at him. "How can you sound so certain?" Jessica demanded.

"Because I was Voldemort's prisoner when he died."

The short answer made the old timers back off immediately, but the younger Aurors were clearly not so eager to do so. Bill, who had been studying Sirius' face impassively, swallowed, seeming to read something that the others did not see, and Frank winced. But Striker spoke up.

"So?" He shrugged an apology. "I don't mean to sound disrespectful, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Because he told me," Sirius replied quietly. "When it happened. May fifteenth, nineteen eighty-eight." He paused, and did not mean to speak the next words. "I remember."

"He could have been lying to you," Adam said reasonably.

"He wasn't."

"I have a present for you, Sirius," the cold voice said for the second time, following the punishment for ignoring the first. Sirius cracked his eyes open slowly, wondering all the while why he even bothered. It wasn't curiosity, not really, anyway. Maybe it was just an inner wish to be free of the pain for however few seconds it took Voldemort to show him whatever it was.

He was hardly conscious. Hardly cared. Six hours of Poenatoxicum had wrung all the strength out of him, and Sirius was having trouble breathing. Slowly, the Dark Lord came into focus.

"Recognize this?"

Something dangled in front of his eyes: a vaguely round shape, with something blurry on the top and blood dripping from the bottom. Some of the blood splashed onto Sirius' chest, but he was beyond caring. It simply mixed with his own, blending in immediately. He squinted tiredly as Voldemort jiggled the object, then jerked back in surprise when he realized what it was.

"Oh, yes. Remember this day, my friend." The cold voice was impossibly soft. "May 15th, 1988."

"How can you be sure?" Waters demanded. "I mean, you weren't exactly in the greatest of..."

Sirius turned his head to look at the obnoxious candidate, stopping him in mid sentence with a level look. "Because he showed me Moody's head."

Dead silence reigned, until Waters spoke up defensively. "He still could have been lying."

Everyone else ignored him, and suddenly, no one dared to meet Sirius' eyes. They all found something else to stare at--their hands, the tabletop, the paintings on the walls, the carpet, or even a good pair of boots. But no one wanted to look at him, and they all seemed to be waiting for someone to do something. Finally, Sirius pushed the memories aside and spoke.

"I don't think it's Moody," he said quietly. "I will even go so far as to say that this is probably a trap--"

Thirty-four mouths opened to disagree, but he held up a hand.

"However, I do agree with you. Something must be done. Even if this is a trap, there was someone at the Riddle House, and we must find out who. Therefore, we will work the problem. Dawlish, this remains your case. Request assistance as you need it and do what you have to do. Francine, talk to Ollivander and find out whom that wand belonged to. As for everyone else, the discussion is closed. Information disclosed today does not leave the island. Understood?"

Everyone nodded, though Sirius took note of those who did so with more hesitation than others. Striker, Avery, Clearwater, and Waters were the slowest, while, oddly enough, Adam McMillan seemed to agree too quickly. Sirius stopped that thought almost as soon as it rose. Then again, Adam had spent time in Azkaban, and he understood far more than many others would. He was probably glad that they weren't going to try a rushed strike, glad to know that they were proceeding with caution.

Then again, maybe he was just wary. Many Aurors were.

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

Later that night, all thoughts of traps and prisoners had disappeared--they had to. Sirius had forced his mind to clear, made himself focus on the thirteen letters spread across the table in front of him. Written on ancient parchment that would have cost him a fortune had he bought it himself, the letters looked innocent enough, even if one did read the words. Few enough understood what they meant, anyway, for letters of this type had not gone out since Sirius' father was alive.

He sighed. Sirius had appropriated the posh study located at one end of the Main Villa, more for the privacy it offered than for any creature comforts involved. Officially, the study did belong to him as the head of the Aurors, but Sirius had never put too much stock in status symbols. He'd grown up in a social circle that lived and breathed status and pride, and had had enough of that by the time he was thirteen. However, his current actions had a far greater need for privacy than even his dabblings in old and dark magic.

After all, any letter with the following address was sure to attract notice:

T.M. Riddle

of the Marvolo Line

Palace on the Shore

Azkaban Island

Yet the Councilarium was required to meet, and he was a Black. More importantly, he was the Black within the Fourteen Families, and he had a duty which transcended lines drawn by war and hatred. So thirteen invitations went out under the ancient Black seal, to friends and enemies alike.

What comes will come, he told himself. For better or for worse.

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

September 21, 1992

ANOTHER AUROR FALLS, WITH FAMILY

by Keith Lindsay, Special Correspondent

Late yesterday afternoon, tragedy struck. This time, it did not visit the

Clearwater family or the Longbottoms at Glen Ridge; instead, darkness

found a new victim. There were, however, similarities between this most

recent attack and those preceding it. Once again, Death Eaters struck in

broad daylight, invading a home without being challenged and wrecking

havoc on the lives they touched.

Five died in the raid. Taylor Hall, Auror, aged 21. Elissa Hall, aged 23.

Melissa, age 3. Samantha and Richard, age 1.

The Aurors who arrived on the scene refused to comment on the manner

of the Halls' deaths; however, one stunned Muggle neighbor revealed

that he heard screaming before the Dark Mark flashed into the sky.

Therefore, it is safe to assume that the Halls, like so many others, were

tortured to death by the sick followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

One Ministry worker who declined to be named suggested that the father

and Auror, Taylor Hall died last, after watching his family perish.

Taylor Hall left Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1989

to become an Auror, marrying the former Elissa Golden in December

of that year. Both were Muggleborn members of Gryffindor House,

which may have been the cause of their deaths.

It is now clear to this reporter that the war has reached a new level, and

that there are no noncombatants left. This is the third Auror whose

family has been attacked, and if innocent children are not safe from He-

Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, who is? What will this world become at the

end of this war? These questions bear answering, but few seem to have

the courage to do so.


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