Promises Remembered

Promises Remembered

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Dies Irae (The Day of Wrath)

Both his escorts seemed exhausted by the time the trio arrived in Paris, but Peter's inquiries had only been met by a snappish response of "We'll be fine," from Jones. She'd scowled, he'd scowled back, and that was that. Clearwater watched both with unreadable eyes, but Peter sensed disapproval when the younger Auror looked his way. He hadn't expected much conversation from either of his companions, but this was by far worse than he'd thought it would be.

Of course, it could be that International Apparation made them both cranky, but Peter doubted it. Aurors were typically much better at that sort of thing than he was, and neither looked any less steady upon arrival. Then again, Aurors were typically much better at anything than he was. Jones did look angrier, though, and Peter supposed that was something.

"What now, Pettigrew?" she demanded, still glaring. Her student glanced around the private square they'd landed in, just outside the Magical Assembly--the plaza of innocents, Peter had learned it was called during his first visit so long ago. Had only fourteen months passed? It felt like a lifetime.

"This way," Peter said, leading the pair forward. Usually, he was met by a guide, but he knew which way to go. I've certainly been here often enough, he thought distractedly, glancing over his shoulder at Jones. "I do wish you'd just call me Peter."

"Why?" Direct and to the point; that was Jones.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Hearing just my last name reminds me of...other things."

"Oh." She was bright enough to get it, at least, but her protégée was not was not.

"What--?"

A hard look from Jones silenced him, and Clearwater shrugged. Peter threw a thankful smile at the black-haired witch, but he might as well have been smiling at a rock for all the reaction she showed.

"Monsieur Pettigrew!"

Both Aurors' wands came out as a grinning brown-haired wizard rushed in their direction, and Peter barely managed to catch his balance when Jones shoved him out of the way. The newcomer paused in mid-stride two as wands zeroed in on his face, wide eyed and clearly debating if he should fight or run. Peter swore.

"He's a friend!" Peter said quickly, pushing between Jones and Clearwater with his hand outstretched. He resolutely ignored the Aurors. "Sorry about that. My bodyguards are a bit...overzealous." He smiled sheepishly. "It's good to see you again, Jean."

"And you." Jean eyed the others cautiously, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I apologize for being late, but le Présidente--ah, you know how politicians are."

"Yes, I certainly do," Peter replied, trying not to grin. And he knows I'm a politician, too. The man's certainly got flair. "Thanks for meeting us, Jean. This is Hestia Jones and Jason Clearwater."

"Aurors?" Jean asked immediately, and both nodded, although Peter spotted surprise in Clearwater's eyes.

Peter, however, was not surprised. Since becoming the Head of the Department for International Magical Cooperation, he had visited a score of countries, meeting "liaisons" in each one. None of them, however, were quite like Jean d'Orville, and Peter suspected that was because Jean wasn't a politician at all. In fact, Peter was reasonably sure that Jean was a spy, perhaps even one of Les Aurors Spéciales. He certainly acted enough like an Auror (albeit one with a taste for intrigue), even though an outsider probably would not have noticed. Jean played the role to perfection--but Peter hadn't been a Marauder for nothing. Skill at fooling people usually morphed into an awareness of when others were doing the same, and Peter's instincts had been shouting "spy!" ever since about five minutes after they'd first met.

That didn't keep him from liking, Jean, of course, but it did put things in perspective.

"Shall we go?" he asked, smiling back.

"But of course," Jean replied, turning to lead them into Le Maison, the headquarters of the French Magical Assembly. But he did not turn quite quickly enough, and Peter saw him give the others a quick once-over with his eyes, studying and evaluating. The Frenchman's smile quirked just a little bit larger, and he winked at Peter.

This, the Marauder decided, is going to be yet another interesting negotiation.

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

"You're going to attack the Riddle House, aren't you?" Remus asked him the day before the raid was scheduled to take place.

The shattered remnants of the Inner Circle had met once more--at Hogwarts, this time, because there was hardly anywhere else left to go. They could have met at Grimmauld Place again, but there was something oppressive about the old place...and Remus had quietly voiced a preference for Hogwarts, probably hoping that the comfortable surroundings would jar Fawkes out of his distant funk. No such luck. The phoenix wasn't even there.

But Sirius started when his friend spoke, struggling to keep the surprise off of his face and wishing that Bill expression did not so obviously give it away. Hell, like you're doing any better! he snapped at himself, forcing his eyes to shrink down to their normal size. "Come again?"

"You heard me, Sirius." Remus sighed. "I think that everyone here knows at least a little about my visions...I haven't really tried to hide it from the seven of you."

For the first time, Sirius realized that he was the only one in the room who knew why Remus had those visions. Remus hadn't told James or Peter about the Font, or about what it had done to him; Sirius suspected that he would never have found out if Remus hadn't desperately needed to share the awful knowledge with someone. Even then, Sirius knew very little about how the Font worked...and he wanted to know even less. Still, he understood Remus' need for secrecy--there were some powers that simply weren't meant to be shared.

Like those two potions still brewing on Avalon, he thought darkly. The ones that will change my life forever...as if the Conmalesco has not. He swallowed, and tried desperately to hide it. Still, he knew the truth. There's no turning back, Sirius, and you know it. So bring yourself back to the present and do what must be done.

Thankfully, every eye was on Remus as he continued: "I saw Aurors at the Riddle House," the headmaster said quietly. "They were battling Death Eaters, and there was something burning...but I do not know what. And I was interrupted before I could see the end."

"Are your visions always true?" Mundungus Fletcher asked tightly, memories narrowing his eyes. The former Auror had spent two harrowing weeks at the Riddle House, Sirius knew. Two weeks while Voldemort had tortured him and shattered him in August of 1989.

"Yes." Remus nodded slowly. "They are not always clear...but I have never had one fail me." Briefly, his eyes cut to Sirius. "Even Diagon Alley."

The others nodded as Sirius resisted the urge to bite his lip. "You're right," he admitted instead. "We are going to attack the Riddle House. Something has to be done in response to his attempt on Avalon."

"You were going to tell me this when?" James asked immediately, but his light tone took most of the sting out of the words.

"Tomorrow morning," Sirius replied. "Over breakfast."

Fortunately it was true, because James had always been able to tell when he was lying. The Minister of Magic nodded once, not precisely happy, but understanding. James had been an Auror. So, alas, had others.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Dung asked quietly. "I know that the house appears to be just another Muggle manor, but it's anything but that. Don't forget that Voldemort used the place for years before he took Azkaban. The security alone is enough to stop an army."

"It needs to be done," Sirius said firmly, letting his eyes flirt around the room. "Also, we've been watching the manor for a month, and now is the time to strike. The Death Eaters have gotten careless."

Snape's frown spoke volumes, but his words contradicted the unhappy expression. "I am forced to agree," he said slowly. "The Dark Lord--excuse me, Voldemort--has left Lucius Malfoy in charge of security, but Lucius rarely likes to dirty his robes by visiting the place. In actuality, Crabbe and Goyle are responsible for the Riddle House, and neither of them is exactly what I'd call brilliant."

"So there you have it," Sirius concluded quietly. "We'll strike hard and strike fast, and not just for the Aurors. It's time to remind the Wizarding world that there is hope for victory, and that the light will fight back."

Again, the others nodded, but Sirius wished that he could feel the hope he saw spark in their eyes. Those were just words, really. Empty words. He'd spoken them because they needed to be said, not because there was some magic behind them--and mere words or battles would not defeat Voldemort. The Aurors, the Ministry, and the Order had been trying for years, only to have wands and rhetoric fail time and again. What they needed was a difference, though no one in that room was quite prepared for what that difference would have to entail.

Even me, Sirius thought honestly. But he was doing so anyway, and would start with the Riddle House. It was time.

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

Three and a half days later, it was still interesting. By that point, Peter was well and truly fed up with politicians. That, of course, was a rather contradictory thought, but it was true nonetheless. Although life had led him into politics, Peter liked to think of himself as honest and (at the very least) relatively straightforward. He'd never enjoyed playing games, biding time, or waiting for the political process to work itself out. Peter vastly preferred to get to the point, but after nine separate sets of "talks" with Présidente Legarde, he was ready to strangle someone. Day after day, he'd pressed for an answer, even showing Legarde a personal letter from James, but it had done no good.

Even the truth didn't work. Over the last several months, there had been isolated Death Eater attacks throughout France, but most of the Magical Assembly refused to believe that they were Voldemort's doing. They were politicians, concerned with nothing but politics, and reality only got in the way.

Yeah, and that Dark Mark burning in the sky is just a figment of your imagination.

"Monsieur Pettigrew, I understand your Minister's urgency, but this is not France's problem," Legarde told him for the thirty-fifth time. Peter was counting.

And for the thirty-fifth time, he said the same thing. "Perhaps not now, but what if Britain falls? What then? Do you think that Voldemort will be content to leave you alone once he owns just one small corner of Europe?"

"Do not say his name!"

Usually, Peter didn't, and the reaction made him smile tightly. Legarde would never know how hard it had been for Peter to learn to do so, how much he'd struggled to escape his own fears--but the ploy worked. "You fear him, don't you?" Peter asked quietly. "Even when you say that he is not your problem."

"He is not!" Legarde snapped.

"If not now, when?" Peter sighed. "Where is the line, Monsieur Présidente?"

"And what is to keep us from siding with him, eh?" the Frenchman suddenly demanded, looking mulish. "Why should France follow Britain's lead?"

"Wha--" Peter cut off, staring speechlessly. During all the time he'd spent in France, all the talks, and all the work, he had never heard words like these from anyone, especially Legarde. For all his faults, the présidente was a strong man, and he'd never struck Peter as a Death Eater sympathizer. But this...?

His wasn't the only head that had snapped up. From his chair off to the side, Jean stared at his superior--he'd been silent in every negotiation, simply watching and listening, but now he spoke up, shock coloring his face. "Eugène?"

"Forgive me." The présidente blushed, shaking his head. "I do not mean it, but..." He shrugged eloquently, as only a Frenchman could. "It is not so simple."

"With all due respect, sir, I think that it is," Peter replied quietly.

Legarde opened his mouth to voice an objection, but Jean cut him off. "It is time to stop stalling, mon amie," he said quietly, unconsciously echoing some of Peter's earlier thoughts. "And it is time to stop hiding the truth." He turned to face Peter.

"I must admit that I was wary of your Minister's offer of an alliance," he said candidly. "We of Les Aurors Spéciales have heard many rumors about the effects...Voldemort has had upon your country. But your conduct here has gone a long way towards convincing me that your fight may not be doomed for failure."

His eyes flashed, and something dark in his face kept Peter from rejoicing in the fact that he'd been right--Jean was indeed an Auror, and the French weren't going to keep their heads in the sewers forever. But those brown eyes had zeroed in on him intensely.

"I have but one question, Peter." The man's voice could have frozen the Hogwarts lake on a hot summer day. "If you are so dedicated to the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, why do you bear his brand upon your left forearm?"

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

"I just don't know, Arthur," James sighed. "On one hand--"

The left breast of his robes leapt up and tried to hit him in the face.

"What in the name of--" Arthur started, cutting off when the robes did smack James in the face. The Minister of Magic spat out cotton and swore, reaching up to grab whatever magical prank his son must have hidden in this old set of robes, when a high-pitched ticking noise filled the small office.

"Huh?" he asked stupidly, glancing up to stare at Arthur. His deputy frowned.

"That sounds like a--"

"Watch!" James jumped at the sound of his own voice and felt his heart start to pound. "The watch!"

Fumbling, he thrust both hands inside his robes and grabbed for it. James had never been a big fan of pocket watches, but he'd grown into the habit of wearing this one--somehow, it simply seemed appropriate for the Minister of Magic. In fact, he'd become so accustomed to the weight that he'd even forgotten that the watch was there, and it had never done anything before. After all, the watch only told time when you cast a Time Charm on it, which made it next to useless, even if it was extraordinarily handsome. For a pocket watch.

The watch Dumbledore bequeathed to James had six words engraved upon it as the legs of a six pointed star: Safety, Mourning, Peace, Danger, Celebration, and War. They were set in blue stone against the gold background, and the single red hand would point at whichever best represented the Wizarding world at that time. For as long as James had owned the watch, that hand had pointed at War, and he had almost come to believe that it would never move.

Now, though, the hand pointed straight upwards, bisecting the word than ran straight up the middle of the watch, engraved slightly larger and brighter than the others.

C H A N C E.

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

He arrived alone.

For once, the decision was made prudently instead of rashly; Sirius had rushed into many a situation during his life, risking life and limb for dubious reasons that had seemed like wise ideas at the time. This time, however, he was making a calculated risk. And yes, he'd called it that before--but this actually was. One life, he'd always reasoned, was worth putting on the line if it would save others. Especially if that one individual still had the ability to transform into a giant black dog.

Sirius hardly waited until he had fully materialized before shifting into his Animagus form. Doing so wasn't exactly something that Professor McGonagall would have recommended, but careful examination had revealed that the wards were not keyed to recognize animals. It was a foolish loophole, if a relatively minor one in the grand scheme of things--after all, there were only five registered Anamagi alive, and most of their forms could not dig worth a damn.

The dog grinned to itself and set to work.

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

Exactly fifteen minutes later, thirty-two Aurors Apparated onto the front walk of the Riddle House. Not three seconds after that, the black dog morphed into Sirius Black, who, having dug his way inside the ancient stone wall ringing the Riddle House was inside the wards already and would not set them off. It was a simple security system, based on the belief that those inside the walls were those who were supposed to be there, and it worked--right up until the time someone could get inside undetected and let others in.

Sirius smiled grimly as his Aurors split into three groups, pausing only to do a quick head count before setting out. The unique build of the Riddle House had necessitated some changes to the basic Auror raid plan, but he, Alice, Frank, and Francine Hoyt had planned this one to death. There were three doors on the ground floor of the manor, and one group would take each. The first group, Sirius', was intended more as a distraction than anything else; theirs would be the most dangerous task, and the most useless, but it was also the most necessary. If they could draw all resistance away from the back door, Alice, Frank, and the others of Group 3 could make it into the basement unnoticed. Meanwhile, Francine's Group 2 would come in through the kitchen door and back up Sirius' smaller group.

Bill Weasley came up on his left as Sirius dropped to one knee on the gravel drive, squinting to see in the darkness. Slowly and carefully, Sirius counted to ten as he watched the other groups split off to either side, disappearing into the gloom. It was a strangely foggy night, especially for two hours before midnight, but somehow Sirius found that fitting. It was also useful, allowing the Aurors to stay close to the house and away from the ward focus points on the wall without being seen.

As if anyone is awake to see them, Sirius thought acidly. If there were any Death Eaters at the Riddle House--and he devoutly hoped that there were--they weren't exactly awake. Padfoot's sprint around the fence line had been uneventful, and all three groups reached their destinations with equal ease.

"Now," he whispered, and shot forward. Sirius did not need to look back to know that Bill, Tonks, Striker Williamson, Terry Scott, Mucia Coleman, Alain Brittingham, Marcy Trimble and Christa Gambledon were on his heels; he could feel the ground rumble as their feet pounded into the ground.

Sixty-two steps. He counted each one, and felt that they took a lifetime. Thirty seconds, however, lasted entirely too long for comfort. Maroon doors loomed before him, twice as high as Sirius was tall, and at least ten feet across. It was a grand old Muggle mansion, Sirius knew, and looked the part.

"Cadovallum." Sirius let the word out in a half-whisper on step forty-nine. He spoke so softly that even Bill would have had to struggle to hear him, but there was nothing quiet about the results.

A simple disintegration spell would have been easier than the Wall Destroyer, but the objective was to be loud. Distracting. Noticeable. On step fifty-seven, the doors crashed down with a gigantic bang, sending wood fragments and plaster flying everywhere. A few pieces landed near the Aurors, but none hit. The path was clear.

Clear and fast. Sirius' feet landed in rubble on step sixty-three, and green light flashed on step sixty-five.

"Get down!" he ordered, diving to the floor and rolling right. I guess they're awake now! Aurors dropped around him, but Sirius heard return curses beginning to fly. Only a few feet to his left, Bill let loose a Reductor, and Sirius heard Tonks' voice follow with a shield spell to cover them all.

"Coleman, Brittingham, check the alcove!" he snapped, gesturing to the small opening to their left. Mucia Coleman sprinted off immediately with her student in her wake. Sirius watched them out of the corner of his eye, then quickly twisted into his customary crouch and stuck his head up.

It almost immediately came off as green light zeroed in on his silhouette. Bellatrix. One glance was enough, however, for his mind to recognize the other faces in the first line of Death Eaters he and his team faced. There was a second line behind the first, but there was no time to identify them--there had to be twenty Death Eaters arrayed against his small team of nine. Something's wrong here, his mind reported. There should not be this many. She should not be here. But Bellatrix formed the center. Francis Travers, Carol Moon, and Derek Corner were at her left, while all three Fawcetts, Fredrick Moon, and Amanda Pieters--Pieters? Alarm bells went off in Sirius' head, and he suddenly felt cold. Pieters. Sirius swallowed hard. Two from Azkaban. How many more will there be? Who's next? It was hard not to glance at Bill, hard not to think of Frank. Or myself. Sirius shivered.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Extundo!"

Someone screamed.

Light flashed.

"Imperio!"

The words hung heavy in his heart. Who would be next? Was it simply an Imperius Curse, or was it something more? Adam had broken in Azkaban. Sirius had somehow known even before he'd seen the memory in Voldemort's mind. Adam had crumbled under pressure that Sirius knew far too well. But what had happened to Amanda Pieters?

"Reducto!"

"Everbero!"

"Rumperis!"

"Cru--"

Sirius' head snapped up again, and time sped up. Curses were flying over him, and the dark hallway seemed as bright as day. Walls were creaking and crumbling with each hit, and pieces of the ceiling were raining down on his head. The Aurors were crouching in the ruined doorway, but there was hardly any cover. No one had been hit yet, as far as Sirius could tell, but they were about to be in trouble, and Sirius knew it. The only choice was to push forward, but--

Voldemort now held the center of the line.

"Avada Kedavra!" the Dark Lord thundered, and Sirius dove left without thought. He knew at whom the curse was aimed.

Sirius bounced off the wall, throwing a shield up to join his cousin's before he bothered to stand. "Push forward!"

He was on his feet and moving before the others could respond. Sirius fired off one spell, then two, and ten more--he could hardly recollect what he cast, but combat-tuned reflexes allowed Sirius to act without thought. Bill and Tonks were right behind him, but Sirius zeroed in his attention on Voldemort, who had somehow known to Apparate in right after they'd arrived. He shouldn't be here, either. How could he have known? his mind raged. Fire prickled on his arm, but Sirius felt cold.

One step. Two. "Avada Kedavra!"

There was no time for niceties. No time to do the right thing. Sirius knew that the curse would never kill Voldemort, but at least it got the point across--

Someone screamed, and Sirius' heart leapt. In the split second between casting the curse and watching it strike, he suddenly realized that Voldemort's attention had been elsewhere, and his back exposed. It was one chance in a million--but the screaming Death Eater was Derek Corner as Bellatrix shoved him forward. He stumbled, caught himself...right in the Killing Curse's path. Corner crumbled. Voldemort spun. Red eyes met Sirius', and then the Dark Lord's cold voice filled the hall with power.

"Acervis!"

Sirius dove to the floor, praying that the black light would not track him. It could, he knew, but only if there was enough time--"Look out!" Bill cried.

A scream of pain filled the hall, and Sirius felt the darkness raging, reaching out, ripping and raping someone's soul. He twisted, heartsick, in time to see Striker Williamson convulsing. The Auror had been caught in mid air by the curse, and they could all seem him fading. Another tormented scream tore out of his already raw throat, and then the life abruptly drained out of Striker's face.

The darkness released him, and the hard-edged Auror crumbled to the ground. Cold. Sirius did not need a healer to tell him that Striker was dead; his Mark was burning fiercely in response to the darkness.

"Avada Kedavra!" Two voices, in unison, one female and one male. Sirius didn't have time to turn back, though he knew one was Bellatrix--the other, perhaps, was Dolohov, but he did not care. The green power lashed out, and even as Sirius opened his mouth to shout a warning, Mucia Coleman and Alain Brittingham stepped out of the alcove.

"No!" Tonks screeched.

Both Aurors crumbled.

There was no time to grieve.

"Quickly, to the left!" Sirius shouted, bounding to his feet and firing off a fast Strike Spell. He hit someone. Something.

Twisting right, Sirius waved the others behind him. From his study of the manor's floor plan, he knew that the door Bill was wrenching open led to the study, and knew that they could further escape into the library...where the Aurors would hit a dead end. But there was no other choice. The hallway had become a killing ground.

"Go, go, go!" Bill shouted, shoving his student through the doorway.

"Crucio!" It was Bellatrix. Typical.

He dodged and ducked, firing off curses as quickly as he could, but one Auror against twenty Death Eaters was suicide. Even had Voldemort not been there, Sirius would have been doomed, had he meant to stand and fight. Instead, he only had to buy time.

Strike. Reductor. Killing Curse. Shield. Shield again, and strike back. Moving too fast for thoughts, dancing the most deadly dance he'd ever danced. Sirius was weaving in and out between strands of power, and he'd never felt so alive. Every sense was awake and throbbing; every motion was calculated in a corner of his mind that he couldn't quite reach--consciously. Dodge. Bone Breaker. Mirror Curse. Disintegration. Decapitation. He hadn't managed to kill anyone, but he hadn't been hit, either.

Tonks, Scott, and Lawrence were through the door. Bill ushered Christa through, and then turned back to Sirius. The redhead hesitated.

"Go!" the senior Auror shouted. Bill ducked into the study, but not before Sirius saw worry flash through his eyes.

He need not have bothered. The moment Sirius saw Bill escape, he swung into motion, falling back one step and then two--Shield Spell! his mind screeched, and Sirius erected one just in time to block someone's Decapitation Curse. Four steps. Five. He was just two away from the opening.

"Cadovallum!" Rodolphus Lestrange shouted, and the entire manor rocked without warning. Dust flew everywhere, obscuring Sirius' view of the enemy, and he knew that he should take the chance to run even when Voldemort's long strides brought the Dark Lord emerging from the haze. The air cleared quickly, and Sirius saw darkness and stars where there had been none before. Abruptly, he realized that the back wall had been blown out, and...was that Rodolphus leading half of the Death Eaters out?

"Sirius!" Bill shouted, jarring him out of his confusion. Voldemort's wand was coming up--

Sirius dove through the doorway, and heard Tonks slam it shut behind him. Such a thin barrier would not hold any wizard long, but at least it was something.

"Owh!" Scrambling to his feet, Sirius hit his head on a nearby desk, sending its contents flying all over the study. He swore and caught his balance, noticing that no one laughed.

"What's that?" Tonks asked curiously, pointing at Sirius' right foot.

He glanced down, realizing that he stood upon an ancient looking square of parchment, perfectly folded and flat. Sirius dropped into a crouch to pick it up. "Good ques--"

The door exploded, taking Christa out at the knees and sending her to the ground. "Get back!" Sirius shouted. "To the library!"

There was one more door, and it was their only route of escape. Immediately, the Aurors broke for it, but Bellatrix had already stepped into the study, and Sirius could feel Voldemort lurking just behind her.

There was no time. They knew it, and still they went.

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Ye Old Other Author's Note: 13 days to go, four chapters to post--and three to write. Can I do it? You'd better believe I will! So please review, and stay tuned for the rest of the Riddle House Raid soon. The more encouragement I get (insert shameless plug for reviews here), the faster it comes. Can PR beat PU for reviews? So, stay tuned for even more action, and some interesting surprises.