Promises Remembered

Promises Remembered

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Thirty-Eight: That Which Others Would Not Be

The moment a black and stormy dawn broke over the island, he knew.

In reality, there was no dawn. Just thunder cracking and lighting flashing, sending electricity dancing across the suddenly high seas. Waves smashed into the shore, roaring loud enough to deafen anyone close enough to hear, and even the waters of the lake swirled as if possessed by some giant whirlpool. Still, no rain beat down upon the island, for rain was a natural phenomenon. This wasn't.

He had woken up before the crash, so had taken the time to dress before stepping outside. Alice and Frank Longbottom hadn't been so lucky--both wore hastily-donned robes over plaid pajamas. Alice's feet were bare, but Frank had managed to find mismatched shoes before rushing outside to find that a giant oak tree had collapsed into the roof of the library. Others joined them slowly: Hestia Jones and Jason Clearwater emerged from the Main Villa together, half-dressed and probably almost ready to depart for France; Derek Dawlish in nothing but a pair of torn trousers and looking ready to kill; Oscar Whitenack, still glaring furiously at his new student; and Calvin Waters, that student who had clearly managed to crawl under Oscar's skin one more time.

Sirius was the most decent of them all, because he'd woken up freezing cold and wondering why. Now he knew.

"Why isn't it raining?" Clearwater mused.

"Because this isn't a storm," Frank replied, glancing at Sirius briefly. "Not a natural one, anyway."

Like Sirius, the Senior Candidate Instructor had studied Avalon intensely during the last few months, but he did not have the advantages Sirius possessed. First, Frank did not have time to wander the island and explore, thus learning more than books could tell, and second, he wasn't the head of the Aurors. Sirius was certain that Avalon sensed that in him, and while he wasn't sure if the island liked him or not, it seemed willing to work with him. The thought almost occasioned a laugh. Rather, it isn't working against me, Sirius thought cynically. I doubt Avalon works for anyone.

Darkness raced up his left arm, dark and cold pain. The world swam before Sirius' eyes, making him sway dizzily before he could catch his balance--and barely avoid grabbing his left wrist in a useless protective gesture. Doing so never helped, and if he missed, Sirius risked causing himself intense pain, but somehow he always wanted to do so anyway.

"What is it?" several voices asked at once. He shook his head, pushing the pain away. There wasn't time for that. If Sirius paused to even think about the agony, he'd probably fail--it's now or never, he told himself darkly. He had made the choice; now was the time to act on it. Deep breath.

Sirius straightened, and stretched out for the first time since drinking the Conmalesco Potion three days before. Awareness slammed into him.

And so did power. Power like he had never felt before--exhilarating, sweet, smooth, and electric. It rushed through his body, filling his senses and his soul, wrapping Sirius in a cocoon of security and false invincibility. But how false? There was no way to tell, only power. Sweet and strong power. Experienced though he was, Sirius had never felt this before, and immediately knew that it was an extension of himself that he had never been able to tap into. It was almost as if the power had been trapped on the other side of a wall and simply waiting to be called upon.

He did not see the red flash in his eyes, and nor did the others. It was too dark, and they were too distracted, but Sirius felt the change. He choked back the exhilaration that had risen with the power, forced away the feeling of superiority. There was something dangerous lurking within his grasp, drifting just below the shadows of his consciousness. It had not been there before, but Sirius knew immediately that it would never leave him. Gaining power, for the sheer sake of power, is without purpose, his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had said during sixth year. And thus doing so always has consequences.

Consequences and purpose--Sirius began to understand. But then again, he was intimately familiar with each of them.

"Death Eaters," he answered slowly. "Death Eaters and their lord."

"Voldemort? Voldemort is here?" Waters demanded.

Sirius stared into the distance, past the half-crushed roof of the library, over the swirling lake, and beyond the Old Gates. He shook his head slightly. "They are coming."

"How? How did they know?" Waters gasped, still not thinking clearly. There was fear in the reckless boy's eyes.

"Adam," Hestia Jones growled, and heads turned to face her. She wore the pain and betrayal on her face like a badge of honor, having once loved the man who betrayed them all. Fury danced in her dark eyes. "He told them."

"He leads them," Sirius corrected her, still staring into the distance. He could almost see the shadowy figures as they rode small boats across the waves, could feel their vanguard of darkness. There were a dozen Dementors, perhaps more, all formed into a wedge, an honor guard, to escort their Dark Lord.

And there was Adam, shivering at the side of a man he hated more than anything in the world.

"Stop..." A pitiful gasp. One he had heard before and always ignored. This time he did not.

"Why?" he asked lightly, waving the Dementor back a step. The fool had been under the potion for barely less than an hour, but as usual, it was tearing him to shreds. Macmillan writhed on the floor as if it would lessen the pain. By now, he should have known that it did not. Still, he could not help himself. One of the first things that the potion did to prisoners was rob them of self control.

Then again, a normal person would have gone utterly insane after an hour of Poenatoxicum. Aurors tended to take about two.

"I..." He'd been working on this particular Auror for the better part of five months. He knew what the answer would be.

Voldemort waited.

"I'll do it," the Auror whispered through the pain. "Just please...please stop..."

Voldemort smiled.

Two.

Snap.

Sirius shivered, and drew back from the sick feeling of satisfaction that he felt--nay, saw. Remembered. Except, once again, this was not his memory. Sirius shivered again, feeling cold. He knew who it belonged to. He realized whose eyes he had just seen from--and the knowledge left him feeling dirty, cruel. He had not been there, but in those moments it felt that he had, looking out the other side of the red eyes that had tormented him for far more years than Adam had taken to break.

Still, he found it hard to blame the other man. Had I not had something to hold so tightly to, I might have... Sirius cut the thought off. He preferred to believe that he would not have broken--at least not so quickly, even if he had not had such friends to cling to. But the human soul was a fragile thing, and Voldemort had clearly crushed Adam's.

"Sirius?"

Frank was staring at him. What did Frank see?

He turned. "Yes?"

"Are you all right?" The other noticeably did not ask how do you know these things? but the words hung in the air for even a deaf man to hear.

"Yes. I was simply distracted." Sirius was far from deaf, but he ignored them. The cold wind was blowing his hair away from his face.

"How do we face an enemy we cannot see?" Clearwater asked. "Will we let them onto the island?"

"No. We will not." He could see the Dementors coming closer, could sense them, too. Sirius closed his eyes. The picture grew clearer, and for a moment he could sense the island's touch, could feel its warmth, and Sirius reached out. "Twelve Dementors," he said softly. "No. Thirteen. Voldemort. Fifteen Death Eaters."

"Do they include Adam?" Hestia asked harshly. Sirius could only offer her a crooked smile as he opened his eyes.

"To the northern beach--quickly," he ordered. "We will defend the Old Gates. Clearwater, Waters, stay with your Mentors."

Thankfully, both Frank and Alice's students had chosen to take advantage of the time to visit home and were not on Avalon. So had Dawlish's, much to Sirius' relief. Most Aurors would not have been grateful that they were gone, for they were greatly outnumbered, but Sirius was glad that they were gone. Seven against fifteen, and that's discounting the Dementors and assuming I face Voldemort alone. Sirius felt a smile growing despite the pessimistic thought. They were long odds, but that tended to be the story of his life.

The others had rushed ahead of him, more worried than Sirius seemed to be. Even to his own mind, he felt strangely calm. He walked slowly forward, wand in hand, one step coming smoothly in front of the next and wondering. It took him a long moment to realize why he felt this way, but the truth was there. Adam's memories had broken it loose. The decision had been instinctive, had been made years ago.

I'd rather be his enemy than his victim.

His long strides ate up the ground, but not quickly enough. By the time Sirius reached the beach, huge waves were crashing up onto the shore, drenching the Aurors as they stood silhouetted in the flashing light. Every few seconds, another lightning bolt would illuminate their shadows, but they seemed very small against the vastness of the ocean. They were on the peninsula, now, just on the south side of the gates and exposed to the elements. The Death Eaters' magically propelled boats were now visible to the naked eye.

Unlike Azkaban, which lay somewhere beyond the crashing waves. Sirius was vaguely relieved that he couldn't see Avalon's sister island, and he wasn't about to look. He had always known it was there, and had no desire to ever see it again. Unless it's turned into a garden, he decided irrelevantly. One with lots of pretty flowers and bright colors. And only after every building on the damn rock is razed to the ground. A quirky smile crossed his face, only to disappear as soon as the thought ended. And salted for good measure.

A pale-skinned figure was standing up in the bow of the lead boat. Even through the Dementors' shadows, he was clearly visible, standing tall and proud, like a conquering hero. His red eyes burned brightly, shining out like absurd beacons in the night. Sirius laughed.

"What are you laughing at?" Hestia demanded, whirling to face him as he reached her side.

"Voldemort," he replied without thinking, then realized from the look she gave him that Hestia thought him rather mad.

"I think you're the only man alive who can do that!" she shouted over the still-rising winds, and Sirius saw something flash in her eyes. A similar look crossed Clearwater's face from where he stood beside her, and Sirius did not know what to say. Instead, he acted.

"Open the gates!" he shouted. "We fight from the shoreline!"

The wind almost carried his words away, but Sirius had always been loud. Quickly, the small group of Aurors made their way to the other side of the Old Gates, but Sirius did not watch. He led the way, with his eyes scanning the horizon. Waves were breaking over the narrow strip of land, almost completely drowning it at some points. More than once, he saw the Old Dock go completely underwater, and he briefly wondered if Voldemort meant to use it. That dock and the gates had once been the only entrance to Avalon, back when Aurors returned to the island via boats from Azkaban. The irony of Voldemort attempting to do so did not escape Sirius, but he doubted the Dark Lord was so foolish. The dock stood in an inlet, and while it was rather protected from the elements, it would force the Death Eaters to fight their way up the entire peninsula before even reaching the gates.

Sirius shrugged off the thought. No, Voldemort was taking the most direct route. He was coming right at them.

His robes sweeping out behind him, Sirius turned just in time to see Frank and Alice turn together to close the gates. He waved them off. "Leave them open!"

"Are you crazy?" Alice yelled. "That will let the Dementors in!"

But it would also let the island out.

He could feel power shifting behind him, but it wasn't his own. It was Avalon. Sirius sensed it before the others as, not two hundred yards off the coast, dark shapes soared over crashing waves, rushing forward to capture easy prey. But the others felt something within the island rising to meet the darkness, something alive rising to meet death, something sentient fighting the darkness.

White mist rose at Sirius' back. He turned when Dawlish gasped, pointing, and saw the white film creeping across the island, irrevocable, unstoppable. The mist reached the Aurors even as Voldemort's creatures crested the last wave, gray and bony hands reaching for their frozen victims.

The Dementors faltered in their charge.

An inhuman sound split the night as the mist struck the demons, and they screeched in terror--or was it pain? Immediately, the pack shattered, fleeing every direction save towards Avalon. The mist kept reaching, stretching, chasing--and Sirius suddenly realized that he did not feel cold. He had not felt the Dementor's touch, had not been affected at all. Did Avalon shield us? he wondered with surprise.

That answer, however, was far easier to figure out than why the island had acted in the first place. And yet it felt right. It always had. Avalon was different. Ravenclaw's words suddenly came back to him: 'Avalon will always be both more and less than it seems,' the famous Auror and co-founder of Hogwarts had written. Had she known something he did not, or had she simply sensed it lurking at the edge of her consciousness, never quite close enough to identify, but always there? Sirius might have contemplated that more, had not Alice's shout bought reality crashing back down.

The Dementors were gone, but the Death Eaters were not. Still they came, with Voldemort in their lead and Adam trapped at his side--trapped by his own choices, but trapped all the same.

"Make the mist go after them!" Waters screeched over the Dementors' fading wails. The mist was following the creatures, though, not targeting the Death Eaters--

"I can't!" Sirius shouted back. "I didn't do it!"

"Then why the hell are we here?" Waters asked foolishly. Sirius ignored him, but Dawlish's voice registered.

"We need to find cover! If we fall back to the gates--"

"No! We stay here!" Sirius cut him off, gesturing at the wild waves. "Target the boats! Use the water against them!"

Seven pairs of eyes stared at him for one wasted moment, then as one, the Aurors swung into action. Without orders, they spread out along the water's edge with Sirius at their center and a Longbottom anchoring each end. Spells started shooting out before the line was even completely formed, and the Death Eaters immediately responded in kind. Even Adam was fighting back, and Sirius heard Hestia screech something foul into the wind at him. The range was a bit long, but the battle was joined.

Spray leapt up out of the ocean, drenching Sirius to the bone, but he hardly felt the cold. His eyes had locked with another set, locked and held. Each knew that this wasn't the end. It could not be. The end would be far darker than this. Therefore, one would flee--the only question was which. Who, indeed? Sirius wondered as he raised his arms to shoulder height, letting magic stretch out from him and seep into the waves. Immediately, the seas bucked, joining the whirlpools and gusts formed by the other Aurors. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw one Death Eater thrown clear of his boat, Apparating long before he even hit the water.

One hundred yards.

Red and green light split the sky, coming mostly from the sea. The Death Eaters had realized that the Aurors were up to something the moment that the spells stopped flying outwards, and they were fighting back with all they were worth. Meanwhile, every other Auror in the line joined together to form an integrated shield spell under Frank's control, while Alice quickly shouted out which boats the others should concentrate on. All except Sirius. Sirius stepped forward, moving out of the line and leaving his back to his colleagues. They did not need him to defend themselves, he knew. They needed him to accomplish something more.

The wild seas grew rougher, tossing the small boats back and forth like toys in a child's bathtub. Still, the Death Eaters clung to their crafts, save Voldemort who simply stood there, as if he was confident that nothing could touch him. Sirius felt a grin grow on his face. Watch me!

In retrospect, it was nothing like the duel in Azkaban. It wasn't even like the beginning of the attack on Diagon Alley, when they had been closer matched than ever before. Nor did the situation bear any resemblance to the end of their Diagon Alley duel, unless one switched black for white, and threw the results end over end.

Much like Voldemort's boat, when it came down with a crack, a splinter, and a crash. Death Eaters flew as the boat took flight, flipping over like some Muggle roller coaster and aiming for the water. Upon landing, the boat shattered, sending a spray of wood and metal fragments in every direction. However, most of the Death Eaters never hit the water; they raised their wands and Apparated away with less than a second to spare. Some, however, floundered in the high waves before they managed to flee, joined by their compatriots from the other three boats, which the shore-bound Aurors had driven to similar, if less dramatic, fates.

Almost before he could blink, they were gone. The night grew quiet, and the waves began to calm immediately, a sure indicator that the darkness had left Avalon. The white mist was gone, having chased the Dementors back to whatever hell they had been dragged out of, all those years ago, and Sirius somehow doubted that they'd ever see those particular Dementors again. Slowly, the wind died down, and the island grew quiet. Aurors breathed soft sighs of relief, glancing at one another as if surprised to still be alive.

And yet, it had been--

"Too easy," Hestia Jones growled, pushing wet black hair out of her eyes. "That was entirely too easy."

"It was brilliant," Clearwater disagreed, showing his first true exhilaration since the death of his family. His wide eyes were fastened on Sirius as if he'd never seen magic before. The wind picked back up.

The senior Auror shrugged. "I--"

The world went black with pain and he thought that he screamed. His vision gone, Sirius felt himself spinning and collapsing as freezing fire ate its way up his left arm, racing for his heart.

Vaguely, he registered falling to his knees on the ground, squishing on wet sand.

Thought you won, did you?

Sharp claws sought to rend his soul, and Sirius felt his body buckle and jerk. Cold fingers invaded his mind, yet he was still hearing things--Clearwater was shouting for help, Jones was shouting his name as if afraid to shake him, running footsteps were approaching... Sirius felt as if he were in two places at once, both in the real world and trapped inside his own mind. His head spun, and it was not from their struggle.

Soft laughter. Do you think you can change yourself so much as to have a chance, Sirius? Paralyzing pain; every nerve in his body was on fire. He felt so cold.

What you are cannot resist what I--

Sirius shoved back against the pain, pushing back instead of simply trying to resist. For the first time, he realized that this link was not simply Voldemort's to control, and Sirius used that knowledge.

Explosion of agony. Voldemort was pushing back.

He must have screamed. He must have fallen. No human being could have endured that without doing so, but Sirius didn't hear himself scream. I'm losing focus, he thought desperately, struggling to cut the link. If he blacked out, there would be no fighting back, no way out. Clinging to consciousness was the only option, so Sirius clung, little by slowly clawing his way out of the darkness.

And then, just as suddenly as he had come, the Dark Lord vanished. The real world snapped back into focus, and Sirius blinked, staring at the wet sand. Much to his surprise, he was still on his knees, with water seeping through the thin fabric of his robes. His right hand was buried in the sand for balance, but the left was, oddly, still hanging half-bent by his side. The instinctive reaction to clutch the arm to his chest was fading, and Sirius slowly let it fall. Just as calmly, he sucked in a deep breath and let it out. The world stopped spinning, and his dizziness abruptly vanished.

"Are you all right?" Alice asked worriedly.

Breathe. Contemplate the implications later. "Yes," Sirius replied after a moment, pushing the very strangeness of this meeting out of his mind. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Oscar asked worriedly. "You just collapsed..."

"Just?" His head came up sharply, and Sirius rose to steady feet.

"One moment you were standing, and the next you were on your knees," Hestia explained quickly, shooting Sirius a strange look. "Then your body...well, you convulsed a couple of times before going still. But you didn't seem to hear us."

Sirius shook his head to clear it, not sure if he at all liked what he had just been told. "I heard you," he replied. "I was just concentrating on other things."

"Voldemort." Frank's voice was grim, and his eyes were dark. What does he know? There was something chilling in Frank's unhappy expression; the thin lines around his eyes hinted that he knew more than he was saying.

"Yes."

"How many times has this happened?" Alice asked, glancing at her husband.

"Too many," Sirius snorted softly.

"But what does it mean?" she pressed.

Everyone waited for an answer, but Sirius only shrugged out a lie. Yes, he knew...but he was not about to share it. Not here, and especially not with them--Aurors or no, they were likely to judge him more harshly than the rest of the world. Except, perhaps, for my friends, Sirius admitted to himself, trying not to swallow. I think they may hate me for this. But that was for another time. Sooner or later, he'd have to tell someone the truth, aside from Snape. It was odd how Snape, a Death Eater, understood what he was doing while his fellow Aurors would not, but Sirius supposed that was to be expected. After all, he was playing with darkness.

As he turned back towards the Main Villa, he muttered something about getting some rest. The others accepted it at face value--all except Frank, who was still watching Sirius with unreadable eyes. Sirius tried to ignore him, to pretend he did not notice, but it was hard. Frank had once been a friend, but Sirius had the uneasy feeling that those days were fading. Just like so many other things.

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

James had always hated getting up early, but at least there was a halfway decent reason this time. After much urging from Lily and Snape, he'd finally come to Hogwarts so that Madam Pomfrey could look at his back problem and give an expert's opinion. James had been dead set against doing so, but Snape's argument had finally sunk in--he had lost the use of his legs before Blackwood had given him any potions. Therefore, in addition to keeping James paralyzed, those potions might have been masking the actual problem, which, as Snape pointed out, a Potions Master was not an expert on fixing.

So there he was, letting Pomfrey poke at him and feeling eleven years old again. He wished Lily could have come, but time was short and she was even busier than he was--if that was possible. Reconstruction on the Ministry had just started, and the Unicorn Group was still reeling from the loss of Nicholas Flamel. Between those two, Lily and James saw each other rarely, except when one or the other returned later than late at night. James scrunched up his nose in annoyance. He'd been up until one the night before, going over Ministry records and sorting through Dumbledore's old files--or, what survived of them, anyway. So much was missing that he'd started to wonder if someone had taken it.

"Well, that's interesting..." the healer muttered under her breath, jerking James back to the present. He immediately twisted his head around to look at her (he was stuck lying on his stomach, a position he was certainly not fond of), but she just kept poking.

"Well, what's interesting?" James pressed.

"Professor Snape has given you anti-toxins, yes?"

He tried to nod and ended up with a face full of pillow. Exasperated, James spat pillowcase out of his mouth before replying, "Yes."

"It seems that you've shattered several vertebrae," Pomfrey replied slowly.

"You can fix that, right?"

Pomfrey chuckled briefly. "Of course I can, James."

For a moment, he was struck speechless by relief, and cranked his neck around even further to stare at her with wide eyes. She just said that she can--James felt like shouting for joy. So long had gone by that he didn't dare hope any more; his faith in healers had completely vanished after Blackwood's work. But Pomfrey he trusted. It was, after all, hard not to trust the witch who had pieced his shattered face back together after he'd nosedived off his broom at almost a hundred feet up, too busy showing off for Lily to care about safety.

"However, this will take time," the matron continued quietly.

"How long?" James asked eagerly.

"At least a few months," she said gently. "Perhaps more."

He gaped. "What?"

Pomfrey sighed, lowering herself into the chair at his bedside. "The vertebrae are no longer the problem, James," she explained. "The toxin Blackwood gave you was eating away at your spinal cord. Had Severus treated you even a month later, you would never walk again."

"But..." Suddenly, he was afraid again.

"It will heal," the matron assured him. "But it will take time."

James swallowed. "I don't know how to..."

He was going to say thank you, and would have had an owl not landed on the pillow right in front of his face. James sputtered and glared, once again having to spit something out as it landed in his mouth, though this time it was a letter. He grabbed for it as the owl dropped the rolled parchment, flying away without a backwards glance. But James hardly cared for the owl. Instead, he was looking at the wax seal on the letter, which included the words Toujours Pur.

James tore the letter open, still lying prone. Why would Sirius send him a letter when he could simply call...?

To: James H. Potter, Minister of Magic

From: Sirius Black, Head, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Aurors

Voldemort has attacked Avalon. 15 Death Eaters, 13 Dementors, led by Adam Macmillan.

He has been repulsed.

No injuries.

No deaths.

Jones and Clearwater have departed for France as scheduled.

By my own hand:

Sirius Black

It was an oddly formal letter to come from one's best friend, but James recognized the reason once he got past his shock. Avalon? Voldemort found Avalon? He wanted to scream. The Aurors' last sanctuary, in addition to one of the most mysterious locations in the Wizarding World, Avalon was supposed to be untouchable. And yet...it had been. 'He has been repulsed,' Sirius had written. Gone. Defeated. Avalon was safe.

Still, James had a hard time swallowing the facts. The letter was so dry, so impersonal...it was the letter from a department head to the Minister, no more, no less. True, it divorced James from the situation, allowing the Minister to leave the matter entirely in the Aurors' hands, but James didn't want to be divorced. He was an Auror, despite his current condition, and dammit if Sirius wasn't trying to shield him again.

The real question, however, was what Sirius was trying to protect him from this time.

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

By dawn, all seven of the Aurors who'd participated in the attack had been exhausted. They'd been too strung up to sleep, and far too curious about what had happened with Sirius. After a few hours and a few messages sent, though, Hestia left with Clearwater and the others went back to bed. Everyone, that was, except for Sirius. Sirius started planning revenge.

When all available Aurors gathered upon Avalon at noon, he already knew where they were going. They were talking quietly, now, trying to pretend that they weren't talking about the attack, weren't talking about him. But so many faces turned red the moment they realized he'd noticed, and dozens of eyes avoided his own. Did they still trust him? There was only one way to find out.

Am I getting paranoid? Sirius wondered abruptly, then pushed the thought away. It, too, was for another time. He cleared his throat.

"Strike hard, strike fast," he said, sweeping his eyes around the room. "Alastor Moody used to say that, and he was right.

"We've been hit. Voldemort accomplished what no other in history has--he invaded Avalon, the last untouched sanctuary of the light. We cannot let this go unpunished."

"You mean revenge," Francine Hoyt remarked, her dark eyebrows almost touching.

"Yes."

"Where do I sign up?" Oscar Whitenack asked, his voice far harder than Sirius had ever heard before. The young idealist seemed to have morphed into a hardened old man overnight, and Sirius was sad to see the change.

Everything is changing...

Angry grunts of agreement came from all corners of the room, and Sirius saw shadows of Oscar's hardness in almost every face. There was nothing Aurors hated so much as feeling cornered, and the strike on Avalon had shaken them. Avalon was theirs. It was the Aurors' job to keep it safe.

Everyone, he noticed, avoided mentioning how it had stayed safe this time. Don't you trust me? he wanted to scream, but refrained. In truth, he was afraid of what the answer might be.

"Where to?" was all Alice asked.

Sirius allowed himself a small nod. "The Riddle House."

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

A house on a hill. Grand and imposing, if not a little...dark.

Night.

Figures rushing through the bushes. Hiding.

Flash.

Something was burning. The night was as bright as day--was it day, now? The stars had faded, and red light lit the sky--

Faces.

Nymphadora Tonks. He remembered her. Such a bright girl, if hopelessly clumsy. She'd always seemed too sneaky to be a Ravenclaw, but she'd been smarter than met the eye--

She was running. Towards or away from something? There was no way to tell, but she was inside a room--

And the floor heaved out from under her, sending Tonks flying through the air.

Green light. Red light. Green. Purple. Black. Fire.

Fire.

A burning body. Live body. The man was screaming.

Green.

Someone convulsing in mid-air. Striker?

Fire.

Screaming.

Screaming.

Screaming.

Curses. Burning. Flying Tree.

Flash.

Rodolphus Lestrange dueling with someone. Frank? His victim collapses. Lestrange smiles, raising his wand.

Sirius--

"Headmaster?"

Remus jumped, smashing his knees into the bottom of his desk in the process. His vision swam, and the room spun, but one figure stood out, and her huge eyes were staring at him with concern. Images still danced through his mind, but they were illusive, like mist that Remus couldn't quite grasp, no matter how he tried--

Sirius stepping forward.

Laughter.

Burning.

Screams.

Burning--

"Professor Lupin?"

He jumped again, then shook himself. "Yes?" Remus managed, aware that his voice shook unsteadily.

"Are you all right?"

He blinked a few times, disappointed that it made the images disappear. "I'm fine."

Remus wanted to scream. Something was happening, was going to happen, had happened--and he did not know what. And had Trelawney not walked into his office, he would have known. What happens with Sirius? There had been a darker quality to his friend than Remus had ever seen before...but maybe it was simply a trick of the light.

And you just look like a wolf during a full moon, Moony. It's only a trick of the light.

"Can I help you, Sybil?" he asked weakly.

She smiled that unnerving smile of hers. "May I borrow your copy of Hogwarts, A History, Headmaster? I seem to have lost mine, and the library's is out..."

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

Screaming.

Severus stood with his back to the cold wall, almost leaning against it, but not quite. He'd have stepped back further if he dared, but disgust only went so far when attempting to escape...this.

He'd seen plenty of torture in his days as a Death Eater. Once, his daydreams had been made of the stuff that formed others' worst nightmares, but no longer. Somehow, he'd become a different man--but he was still doing the same old thing, and Severus had never possessed much taste for watching a broken man die.

That, of course, did not stop Bellatrix from enjoying herself. Nor did it stop most of the others, even if they'd just contributed a Cruciatus Curse as their turn came around. Of course, he'd done the same, but appearances had to be kept up. And it's not like I've got a soul left to lose, anyway, so what am I worried about? He resisted the urge to scowl deeper. Macmillan had disintegrated into a bloody mess of bone and skin--most of which were not attached to each other--and still they tortured.

His ears were starting to hurt.

Great excuse, Severus. Even the thought made him feel dirty. Is that all that bothers you?

Damn conscience.

The noise finally stopped, and the Auror-turned-traitor lay face down in a shivering heap on the floor. He was alive only through Voldemort's intervention, Severus knew--he hadn't missed the slight signal that had forced Bellatrix to stop. The others were watching curiously, now, waiting for what came next--waiting for the grand finale. He wanted to roll his eyes, but did not. Courting death was not a good idea.

Macmillan was mumbling senselessly, probably trying to plead. But he'd been screaming for too long, and had no voice left. His efforts only made Bellatrix giggle.

"I..."

"You what?" Bellatrix cooed. "You want it to stop?"

The resulting noise could have been called a whimper at best, but it was without doubt an affirmative sound. Severus' head was pounding, strangely synchronized with the blood pumping out from the wide gash Bellatrix had just put in Macmillan's side. He wouldn't last long without help, and Severus knew that help would not be coming.

"Enough, Bella." There was no pity in the soft voice, nothing short of cold iron. Still, the Dark Lord moved forward as his pet stepped back, gliding smoothly over the bloodstained floor. They were in his palace, not Azkaban proper, and Severus could only imagine how many Scouring Charms it would take to wipe the floor clean, but he doubted anyone cared.

Voldemort crouched down before Macmillan, his robes dipping in the wet blood. The broken Auror twitched slightly as if trying to escape, but he lacked the strength to even pull his head up off of the floor. After a moment of staring, the Dark Lord reached out and did so for him.

"You plead as if you think it will make a difference," the Dark Lord whispered. Gently, he reached out to brush hair from Macmillan's eyes, and the former Auror flinched weakly. "But why should it?

"Nothing is more useless than an ineffective traitor."

He stood, dropping Macmillan's head to the floor; it landed with a soft squish. Without so much of a glance over his shoulder, the Dark Lord turned away, striding from the room and speaking over his shoulder:

"Finish it."

As one, the Death Eaters bowed, murmuring thankfully. Severus was one of the few who did not automatically fasten his eyes to the floor while doing so; instead, he watched the others' faces, reading desire, anticipation, and pleasure. He swallowed, then stopped himself, hoping that no one noticed. But no--they were concentrating on Macmillan, who simply lay dying on the floor. He'd stopped fighting within the first five minutes. The moment that Voldemort had walked in the room.

It would not take long, but he knew it would feel like eternity. Severus would be required to stay for the last act, of course, and he'd participate. He'd hate every moment, but he would torture and maim and pretend to enjoy it. And there was no use lying to himself--even if there had been a way out, he wouldn't have taken it. He could not, not without jeopardizing that which kept him alive: his status amongst Voldemort's followers. Odd how the same thing that allows me to survive now will accomplish the same thing when the war ends. Only as a spy do I prosper.

So he smiled when Bellatrix offered him the first few moments, and accepted as gracefully one should expect a child of such an ancient and noble house to do.

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