Promises Unbroken

Promises Unbroken

Chapter Eight: Family Ties

Lunch in the Great Hall had, as usual, deteriorated into a battle of wills. On one hand, there were the elder Slytherins, intent on terrorizing anyone with lesser status than their own exalted bloodlines signified--and on the other, there were the senior Gryffindors, who tried their damnedest to defend all those who could not stand up for themselves. The Hufflepuffs tried desperately to walk the middle road and keep friends on both sides, and Ravenclaw tradition dictated that they become the peacemakers. But peace was rare, and moments of reconciliation were few and far between. The Slytherins called it a test, but Harry had come to think of it as cruelty. Perhaps it had started as a simple rivalry, but the battle had become much more than that.

The battle wasn't limited to insults and pranks. It wasn't only a matter of simple hexes that even a first year could overcome--Hogwarts had changed a great deal since his parents had walked the castle's halls. Now, dangerous hexes and malicious curses flew whenever a professor's back was turned or whenever a Slytherin felt that the punishment would not be unbearable. The Gryffindor first and second years were the easiest targets, of course, and the few Muggle-borns had it the worst. The older Gryffindors, however, united to defend their own and those of other houses, although it wasn't as if the elder Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs did not support their underclassmen. Rather, the Gryffindors were the most obvious about it; theirs' was not the House of the Brave for nothing. Reckless, perhaps, was another word to describe them, but all in all, Harry felt right at home.

Payback was difficult. It was a matter of House pride not to sink to the Slytherins' low level; however, no self-respecting Gryffindor could simply stand silently and let it all happen. The Ravenclaws viewed themselves as above the battle, but Gryffindor would fight, even though they would only do so by their own rules. Hexes were acceptable, and even unavoidable at times. Self-defense was a necessity. Striking back when attacked was completely understood--but under no circumstances would a Gryffindor seek conflict. No Gryffindor would give battle on a Slytherin's terms unless they had no other choice, and then they would strike hard and fast, and win, even by the other House's rules. Otherwise, though, they retaliated with finesse, and with embarrassment as their prime tool. Fred and George Weasley had been extremely popular from moment one because of their ability to spearhead the House's efforts to get even, but they'd been greatly outnumbered.

Now there were six willing to hit back with every bit of creativity they could muster. Six students, spanning four families and two different class years, who were willing to fight the battle on their own terms, and to win. Their willingness to ally with the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan had made Harry, Ron, and Hermione Slytherin targets already, and they were only a little over six weeks into their Hogwarts education. Because of that, the seven years they spent at the school promised to be long and trying. On the other hand, those years promised to be great fun.

Until Professor Remus Lupin swept into the Great Hall, breaking up several minor skirmishes through the force of his presence along. He was a kind man, but not one to cross, as all the students knew. No one wanted to test him; experience had taught plenty of students what a bad idea that was. His strides were long and powerful, but the intense and unreadable expression on his face was the exact opposite of the easygoing headmaster's usual manner. He looked anything but happy--and he was heading straight for the Gryffindor table, much to the amusement of the Slytherins on the other side of the hall. Quickly, the six "Misfits" glanced at one another, trying to figure out if anyone had done anything since the incident with Malfoy's shoes the day before...but the only answer was six sets of shoulders shrugging, so they busied themselves with looking anywhere but at the headmaster and anything but guilty. Besides, didn't Professor Fletcher usually deal with their pranks? Whatever Lupin wanted, it certainly wasn't with them. He usually didn't bother himself with such minor and harmless details--

Across the table from him, Harry watched Ron's eyes widen in panic, and he didn't dare look over his shoulder again. The look on his friend's face (plus the frown on Fred's) told him that Lupin was heading their way. The Weasley twins exchanged a quick glance, obviously already planning how to get out of this batch of trouble with only a minimum of detentions; however, the approaching footsteps stopped right behind Harry.

"Whatever it is, Professor, we didn't do it--" George started just as his twin said,

"Really, sir, it was only--"

"I am not here about any of your pranks," Lupin interjected evenly. Suddenly, a gentle hand landed on Harry's shoulder. "I need to speak to Harry."

He looked up at the headmaster. Something about the expression on Lupin's face told Harry that something was wrong. "Sir?"

"It's your father, Harry," Remus said quietly. "There was a Death Eater ambush. He's in St. Mungo's."

Harry's insides went cold. "What happened?"

"I don't have all the details yet," the headmaster responded. "Your Mum is with him, and I'm heading over to the hospital now. You can come if you like."

Rising, Harry nodded woodenly. His throat felt like it was glued shut; he didn't think he could speak if he wanted to, which he wasn't sure about at all. Remus would have said so if his father was close to death, right...? Harry swallowed hard, following his dad's old friend without noticing where they were going. Remus' hand was still a comforting presence on his shoulder, but his heart was twisting in knots. He'd lived most of his life in danger, yet somehow the Potter family had always managed to survive intact, with only a few bumps and bruises here and there. Harry had always known that his father's occupation as an Auror was dangerous, but James Potter had seemed to live a charmed life--unlike over sixty-five percent of his colleagues, he had managed to come home every night. He'd never even been seriously hurt.

Until now. Harry struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. Not Dad. Something told him that this was indeed serious. Please not Dad.

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A short while later, student and professor had arrived at the hospital. Apparently, Remus already knew where he was going, because he bypassed the information desk and kept on walking. Harry kept close behind him, his heart beating furiously in his chest. Not knowing what was going on was killing him. He looked around the hallway, trying to distract himself, but the obsessively clean white walls were no help. He hadn't spent a lot of time in hospitals, but it occurred to Harry that adding some sort of decoration wouldn't hurt anyone. Finally, they walked around a final corner to find his mother sitting on a bench outside a closed door. There was another man standing nearby, seemingly keeping watch. Harry was willing to bet he was an Auror.

His mother rose quickly as they approached, reaching the headmaster first as Harry lagged slightly behind, looking around for any clues to what was going on. "Thanks for brining him, Remus," she said quietly. "I know you hate to leave the school."

"It's not a problem, Lily."

"Hey, honey." His mum reached out for him, and Harry let himself sink into her embrace. Lily kissed him gently on the top of the head. "How are you?"

"I want to know what's happening, Mum," Harry responded softly, pulling back and looking at his mother's drawn and tired face.

"He's going to be okay, Harry," she replied. "But the doctors say that he needs to stay in the hospital for a week or so."

"Can I see him?"

"Not yet." At Harry's frown, his mum explained, "Minister Figg is talking to him right now."

"Oh." Breathing was becoming easier, and when his mother led him to the bench, Harry sat down, feeling a giant sigh of relief escape as everything sunk in. His dad was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay...

"What happened, Lily?" Remus sat down on Harry's other side.

"There was an ambush," Lily replied. "James was supposed to be meeting with an informant, but it turned out to be a trap...Arabella and I arrived just in time to see a Muggle pub blow up. A lot of people were hurt. James was near the door, so he only caught the edge of the blast."

"How many dead?"

"I don't know," she said softly. Her green eyes, so much like Harry's own, were worried. "Too many. Fudge and the Department of Magical Catastrophes people are there now."

A sudden thought occurred to Harry, and he frowned. "Mum, how did you know to be there?"

"You know I can't tell you about our sources, honey." Lily squeezed his shoulders lightly, and as much as he wanted to know, Harry nodded. He'd known for years that his parents were both key members of the Order of the Phoenix, but there always seemed to be a lot that they couldn't tell him. Complaining about that, of course (did they still think he was too young to understand?) got him nowhere, so Harry had learned not to bother, but he still wanted to know. He wasn't stupid, and he wasn't a little kid anymore, either. Better than most kids his age, Harry understood the threat that Voldemort still posed to the magical world. Dumbledore's appointment as the Minster of Magic had helped to stem the tide of terror, but the even great wizard had not yet been able to stop the Dark Lord. His basis of power was far too strong.

Raised voices from inside his father's hospital room attracted their attention.

"You listen to me, young man--" Mrs. Figg snarled. "This is it, and I mean it! No more fieldwork, and no more taking foolish chances! There is too much at risk for you go off getting yourself blown up every few weeks--Don't you interrupt me, James Potter! We cannot afford to lose you, and you damn well know it!"

Harry's eyebrows rose, and he listened intently; it wasn't every day that he got to hear the mild-mannered and cultured Mrs. Figg chew his father out! In fact, he'd never heard anyone talk to his father like that...His mum and Remus exchanged amused glances; it seemed that they, too, thought that his dad deserved to be yelled at.

"'Bella..." his father started.

"Don't even think about it!" Mrs. Figg shouted. "You are not going to sweet talk your way out of this one! The Order needs you, and I am not going to let you get yourself killed--"

"And I'm not going to let Voldemort back me into a corner," his father retorted. "You know just as well as I do that someone has got to do what I do, and if you can find someone better than I at it, then good for you! When that day comes, I'll leave the field, but until then, the Order can't afford not to have me out there! If what you say is true, Dumbledore himself would be here yelling at me, and I don't see him. So put a sock in it, Arabella. You can't make me stop."

"I can order you," the old woman snarled, and Harry could only imagine the furious look on her face.

"I won't listen."
"I'll put you on report for insubordination."

"So?" his father challenged, and Harry couldn't help but smile slightly. His dad had never been one to give in...and the Potter family obstinacy had definitely bred true in the son, too.

"Then I'll fire your stubborn arse for your own safety!"

"Sure you will."

"Damn you!"

His dad laughed. "That, too."

"One of these days, James Potter, I'm going to kill you myself," Mrs. Figg sighed with exasperation.

"Just make sure it's exciting. I'd hate to go out quietly."

"James! I am serious about this! Will you stop joking around?" She was shouting again.

"Well, it's not like I can defend myself if you decide to kill me right now, so I've got to do something," Harry's father replied.

"Such as attempting to annoy me to death?" the old woman demanded.

"If it works, it works. I'll take all the victories I can get."

Mrs. Figg sighed again. "I suppose there is nothing I can do with you, is there? You'll never change." She was silent for a moment, while Harry figured that she had turned her patented death glare on his father. "Is there anything else you need to tell me before I go?"

"No, that pretty much covers it."

"Good," Mrs. Figg replied briskly. "You concentrate on getting better, James. And you will stay in that bed for the entire week!"

"Yes, Ma'am," his father replied demurely, and a moment later, the door swung open. A rather irritated looking Arabella Figg stood in the doorway; her eyes swept over the three of them expectantly. A slight smile flickered across her weathered features as she noticed the equally amused and exasperated expression on Harry's mother's face.

"Heard that, did you?" Mrs. Figg asked.

"Yes."

"Well, I hope you can have more luck with him that I did," the old woman snapped peevishly. "Lord knows, I could never have married the insufferable git."

Lily laughed. "He is difficult, isn't he?"

"Always."

And then Mrs. Figg was gone, leaving Harry, his mother, and Remus to see his father. When they entered the room, Harry almost stopped in shock; his dad looked pale, and there was a bandage covering the left side of his face. His right arm was also in a sling, and Harry could only imagine what else there was beneath the hospital bed's covers. He looked horrible... But his dad smiled as they came in, even though Harry thought he saw him squint. Out of habit, he looked around for his dad's glasses (he knew how unpleasant it was not to have his own on), but they were nowhere in sight. Carefully, he approached the bedside. His father smiled.

"You can sit down, Harry," he said gently. "I won't bite."

Harry blushed. "I know." He sat down on the edge of the bed, to his father's right, and saw his dad smile as he greeted the other two visitors.

"Hello, angel." Harry's mother smiled and sat down at his father's other side, squeezing his left hand as James looked up at his friend, squinting again. "Thanks for bringing Harry, Remus."

"That's what friends are for, Prongs."

"What happened to your glasses, Dad?" Harry had to ask.

"Slightly squished," James replied. "Or, rather...downright shattered. Irreparable. I'm actually hoping that your Mum brought my extra pair from home."

"Here." In a practiced motion, his mother placed the glasses on her husband's face, pausing, as always, to ruffle his hair as she did so. Harry hated that, and his dad did, too, because James scowled playfully.

"Thanks a lot," he groused.

"You're welcome, darling." Lily and Harry shared the same mischievous smile, and she was making full use of it now. "Be nice to me, or I'll take them back."

"No fair picking on people who can't fight back," his dad objected.

"You seemed to be doing fine a few minutes ago," his mum replied.

"Arabella didn't threaten to take away my glasses."

Harry's mum smiled. "I'll make a deal with you. You stay safely in his bed for as long as the doctors tell you to, and I'll let you keep them."

"Some help here, Harry?" his dad pleaded. Harry grinned.

"Sorry, Dad. I think I'm on Mum's side, this time."

The reply earned Harry a mock dirty look. "Traitor."

"More like your son is simply smarter than you are, James," Remus snorted.

"I see how it is. Even you're ganging up on me. Thanks a bundle, Moony."

They all laughed. It was good to know that his dad could still crack jokes and smile, even with all injuries and all the bandages. Harry was almost starting to feel normal again. On the way to St. Mungo's, he'd been terrified of losing his father, and when he'd first seen him, Harry hadn't known what to think, but it was now plain that it would take more than a handful of Death Eaters to take James Potter out. As his worries faded, curiosity kicked in.

"So how did you get out, Dad?" he asked.

His dad grinned. "I learned to fly."

"Dad." There were times when Harry thought he was more mature than his famous father, and this was turning into another one of them.

"No, really," his dad laughed lightly. "I was making a break for the door when one of the Death Eaters decided to blow the pub up, and I learned to fly. Without a broom." He shrugged his left shoulder only; it seemed the right wasn't working properly. "I need to work on my landings, though, because I hit the ground kind of hard. When I came to, it was with your Mum screaming in my ear. Mrs. Figg was busy chasing the Death Eaters away... Anyway, I'm glad the roles weren't reversed. If I'd had to wake up looking at Arabella's face, I'd probably have fainted again."

Harry laughed; Remus made a strange choking noise that sounded like he was trying to repress a bout of giggles. His mum, though, slapped his dad lightly on the shoulder. "James, that's not very nice."

His dad did the one-shouldered shrug again. "Face the facts, Lily. You make a lot prettier rescuer than Arabella Figg. Besides, if she'd had to drag me out of the rubble, I wouldn't hear the end of it until Harry was eighteen!"

They laughed together, knowing it was true. Mrs. Figg had become a grandmother of sorts for Harry since she and his father were so close, but even Harry would have to admit that she never gave up on a grudge. She was of the sort that people said let their grudges die of old age, then had them stuffed and mounted on the wall for safekeeping. She gave great Christmas and birthday presents, but was a horribly disciplined baby-sitter; how many times Harry had earned an earful from her over his "wild" tendencies was beyond counting. He'd long ago learned that while she was a very educated lady, her vocabulary could be as wide and as colorful as a professional Quidditch player's. In fact, Mrs. Figg probably knew more dirty words than any Quidditch player... The door suddenly opened once more, and the inevitable question came.

"What did I miss?"

"Peter!" Remus reacted first, rising and offering a hand to the shorter man. "When did you get in?"

The blonde-haired man smiled. "Just now. Dumbledore was kind enough to let me know. I have to be back in France tonight, but I wanted to make sure James was okay."

"Aside from threats from my wife and rebellion from my son, I'm doing great," Harry's father replied, trying to sit up. Lily pushed him back down. "How are you, Wormtail?"

"Good. You look like hell, Prongs." Peter stepped forward to grasp Harry's father's free hand in greeting.

"Peter!" Harry's mother snapped, glaring at him in a way that would have made either her husband or son wilt.

But the third Marauder grinned roguishly. "I'm sure Harry's heard the word before, Lily," he replied. "Right, Harry?"

"I think I've heard it once," Harry deadpanned, but his solemn look was ruined when Peter reached out to tousle his hair. "Hey! You know I hate that!"

"Good seeing you, kid," Peter chuckled.

"You, too, Peter," Harry replied. His dad's old friend turned to give his mum a kiss on the cheek.

"And hello to you, too, Lily," he said with a grin.

She sighed and smiled despite herself. "Hello, Peter."

After a moment, the other man's playful grin faded, and Peter turned serious, sitting down next to Harry on the bed. "You've got to quit doing this, James."

"Hey, I haven't been in the hospital for years," Harry's dad objected immediately.

"That's not what I mean, Prongs." Peter looked down at his hands, frowning, and then brought his head up to look Harry's father in the eye. "What you've been doing is dangerous, and you've been doing it way too long. Let someone else lead the charge for awhile."

"I can't, Peter," came the quiet reply."

Peter's frown deepened. "I'm not implying that you should stop fighting. It's just that you deserve to--"
"I can't stop," James repeated. "Not now. There's too much at stake... I've got to keep fighting. People need hope, Peter, and while I can't do everything, I've got to do my part."

"You've done more than anyone has a right to expect," the other pointed out.

"And others haven't?"

The question hung heavily in the air, and Harry swallowed thickly, knowing what his parents and their old friends were thinking. For a moment, they were all silent, each thinking their own thoughts--and remembering in their own way. Remus, Harry noticed, had remained silent throughout Peter's arguments, even though Harry knew he'd had this same conversation with James himself. Actually, his mum had, too; his family was concerned that his dad was becoming a workaholic. While his dad argued that it was necessary, Harry knew that Peter, Remus, and his mother were right. But his mum and Remus said nothing. They had lost the same battle too recently to think it would work. Finally, Peter spoke in the voice of a man who hated what he had to say.

"It won't bring Sirius back, James," he said.

Harry's dad blinked sadly. "I know it won't," he replied. "But if I can save just one more person from his fate, it will be worth it."