Rating:
PG-13
House:
The Dark Arts
Characters:
Harry Potter James Potter Ron Weasley Remus Lupin Sirius Black
Genres:
Action Drama
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix
Stats:
Published: 02/26/2003
Updated: 11/13/2003
Words: 164,724
Chapters: 41
Hits: 101,291

Promises Unbroken

RobinLady

Story Summary:
Sirius Black remained the Secret Keeper and everything he feared came to pass. Ten years later, James and Lily live, Harry attends Hogwarts, and Voldemort remains…welcome to a darker world.

Chapter 19

Chapter Summary:
Sirius Black remained the Secret Keeper and everything he feared came to pass. Ten years later, James and Lily live, Harry attends Hogwarts, and Voldemort remains…welcome to a darker world where nothing is as it seems. {This Chapter: Midnight pranks, mistrust, and aftermath}
Posted:
05/31/2003
Hits:
2,219

Promises Unbroken

Chapter Nineteen: Tempered and Tested

He was not, perhaps, the most expected of appointments. Technically, of course, he did not have an appointment at all, but one would never tell that from the way that Lily deftly dealt with his presence, rising gracefully from her chair as Severus approached. She smiled.

"Professor Snape, how good of you to come. The Minister will see you right away."

Severus nodded jerkily in her direction, and he watched her green eyes flash. Lily had always been an expert at reading body language, and he was sure that his was telling her volumes about his stressed state of mind. But there were others watching, and appearances to be kept up, so neither spoke. Severus merely allowed her to open the door for him--an oddity he hated to permit, but in this world, she was the secretary and he the guest--and waited to hear it click shut behind him. Immediately, Albus' head rose from the pile of paperwork Severus' old mentor had been working through, and the professor saw him frown. "What is it, Severus?"

"Silentium," he hissed, flicking his wand impatiently and casting the silencing charm before another word was spoken.

A hint of wariness crept into Dumbledore's voice. "Severus?"

"Sirius Black is alive."

"What?" Albus was on his feet immediately. Severus had rarely seen the old man shocked, and had never seen him frightened, but something lit off in those blue eyes that examined the possibilities and the consequences of four little words-- "You are certain?"

"Quite. Remus was, surely."

Albus' composure returned as quickly as it had departed. "Tell me what happened."

"A dog stumbled into the courtyard," Severus began, turning the facts over in his head for the first time, and finding them very strange. But odd stories and circumstances were something he dealt with every day, even if the dead didn't usually return to life. He ran through the entire tale quickly enough, though, down to repeating the words passed between Remus and Black verbatim. It was an incredible tale, if true, if possible--

"Of course, it can only be him if Black was an animagus before his capture," he finished. "And I don't recall his being one of the eight from this century, so he would have to be unregistered--"

But Albus was thoughtful, and then the old man sighed with a slight smile. "I should have known," he said quietly.

"What?"

"Peter recently registered. James is unregistered. It stands to figure--but I never asked." Dumbledore shook his head. "Amazing. You are sure it is him?"

"I didn't know," Severus looked his old mentor in the eye. "I swear to God, Albus, I did not know."

The Minister came around his desk and placed a hand on Snape's shoulder. His eyes understood perfectly the chaos ripping through the younger man's mind. "I didn't mean it that way, Severus."

Severus blinked. Any other man would have asked how he, as a Death Eater, couldn't not know, but Albus never would. Albus had always trusted him, yet he knew that some things, even the legendary hatred that spanned every thing between Severus and Sirius Black, would never keep him silent. Had he known of Black's continued existence, he would have spoken long before now. Even the deepest of hatred could not cause that kind of silence.

"What do your instincts tell you?" Dumbledore asked after a moment.

Severus hesitated. "As I left, he asked Remus not to tell James," he replied quietly. "That makes me think it's him. Anyone else wouldn't still be trying to protect Potter, even after all these years. And he asked to see you. I don't think he trusts himself."

"If you're right, Severus..." Albus' intense blue eyes studied him for a moment as he cut himself off. "But never mind that. Let's go to Hogwarts."

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

"Harry, look!" Ron grabbed his arm so tightly that it was painful, forcing Harry to twist in his direction. Two figures had just entered the castle, rolling out of the Great Hall's fireplace, one immediately following the other, and moving quickly towards the exit. The first, of course, was instantly identified by his hooked nose and greasy hair, but the other was far more interesting, and much less hated, even if he was just as recognizable. After all, it wasn't every day that the Minister of Magic came tumbling out of Hogwarts' fireplace.

A murmur ran through the Great Hall even as Snape and Dumbledore left by way of the closest exit, heading, Harry noticed--

"They're going to the Hospital Wing," Hermione whispered.

"Of course they are," Ron replied, looking at her as if she were daft. "Don't you remember? The man asked to see Dumbledore and said not to tell--wait a minute! Harry, was he talking about your--"

"Shh!" Harry hissed, glancing around the hall. Fortunately, no one seemed to be listening to their conversation, but just to be safe, he pulled his two best friends off into a dark corner. Ron, at least, took the hint and lowered his voice.

"He said he didn't want to see James, Harry. Was he talking about your father?"

Harry's stomach did a back flip. He bit his lip, but there was only one possible answer. "I think so."

"But why?" Hermione wondered. "And who is he?"

"Sirius Black, I think," Harry replied quietly. This is impossible.

"Who?" Ron asked.

"The fourth Marauder. Padfoot. My dad's best friend." Harry took a deep breath. This is not possible. "My godfather."

"You said he was dead," Hermione remembered.

"He's supposed to be." And I don't remember him, but Dad never forgave himself for that. Harry glanced impatiently in the direction that Snape and Dumbledore had disappeared to. He wished he could follow. He wished he could know. It would mean the world to Dad and Mum if this is real.

"What if this is some kind of trick of You-Know-Who's?" Hermione asked.

Ron frowned. "Professor Lupin seemed pretty certain."

"I think that's why Dumbledore's here," Harry cut in, trying to appear more nonchalant that he felt. He hated waiting! Why was it that Pomfrey had to kick them out of the Hospital Wing just because they were children? Their age didn't make them stupid, and it didn't mean they knew nothing. Why did adults always underestimate them?

He sighed. Being left in the dark was awful. If that was his godfather in there, Harry felt that he deserved to know. Sirius Black had saved his family ten years ago. Didn't they owe him the same now?

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

Out of the corner of his right eye, Remus noticed Poppy tense irritably when two more wizards swept into the Hospital Wing. Severus ignored her, of course, with his perpetual scowl in place, but Dumbledore's charming (although somewhat tight and tired) smile won the day.

"Will you excuse us please, Poppy?" the Minister of Magic asked gently.

She frowned, letting loose a glare that would rival even Snape's, but the matron knew better than to argue, especially as Remus nodded to encourage her to leave. On the bed, Sirius' eyes blinked open; he'd been resting for the past few minutes, and part of Remus wished he could have longer, even if Sirius was right and he didn't want to sleep. Pomfrey left as Dumbledore met his eyes, and the headmaster nodded slightly. He understood the silent question, and had an answer ready. Yes, I am sure this is Sirius, his eyes said. I know this is insane, and I know it's impossible, but this is Sirius. The old man smiled slightly in return, pulling a chair close to the bedside and sitting down.

"Hello, Sirius," he said gently.

"Hi," Sirius whispered weakly, but the lack of flippant response told Remus far more than any soft voice ever would. Usually, he'd be sure of the quip I bet you didn't expect to see me here, or something of the sort, but now there was nothing. That told him that Sirius was still in considerable pain, and very weak--and that a decade in Azkaban had left their mark--and some of those scars ran deeper than mere eyes could see.

"Severus said that you asked to see me." And there was Remus' deputy, standing behind Dumbledore's chair--but his expression had softened, and he was watching Sirius closely. Oddly enough, Remus didn't detect any hatred there, although he was sure that would come later. Seemingly sensing his gaze, Severus met the headmaster's eyes, and Remus saw his friend's lips move slightly.

I didn't know, Severus' pained expression said.

Remus smiled ever so slightly. I know.

Relief washed over Severus' features, and Remus was glad to see it. They might have hated one another as children, but he had grown to trust Snape. He knew him better than to think petty hatred would leave Sirius in Voldemort's hands. Even Snape wasn't that vindictive. Not even on his worst days.

But he returned his attention to Sirius, who was answering Dumbledore quietly. "Voldemort tried to put me under the Imperius Curse...several times." Somehow, Remus had the feeling that the last part was one hell of an understatement. "I fought it, but I don't know if I succeeded..." Sirius shuddered. "I need to know," he whispered. "I won't endanger my friends."

Dumbledore frowned. "Do you think he succeeded?"

"I don't know," Sirius whispered in response. "Ten years in Azkaban have made me believe a lot of things...and question others." He hesitated, and Remus watched his haunted blue eyes search Dumbledore's face. "Can you tell if I'm under the curse?"

"The fact that you're asking tells me a lot," the Minister finally replied, but Remus couldn't miss the tense lines around his eyes. He'd never seen Dumbledore so befuddled...and somehow, he felt that the feeling was unrelated to Voldemort--for the moment.

"But not enough," Sirius finished for him.

"You know such things are complicated, even at the best of times..." And painful, Remus thought, but no one needed to say such things. Sirius knew.

"It doesn't matter."

The hardness of Sirius' voice almost masked the pain behind his words. Outwardly, he might have appeared different from so many years of pain and abuse, but the determination in his eyes was still the same. Somehow, despite the inner turmoil that Remus could all but sense, he met Dumbledore's gaze levelly, with a long-forgotten spark of defiance glinting in his eyes. He was loyal, as always, until the end. Remus could read it on his face. Sirius Black had almost died once to save his friends; he would not endanger them through living once more.

"Very well," Albus said quietly. He lifted his wand. "Reperimperium."

The Imperius Detecting Charm was not a new spell, or at least nor precisely so. Technically, it had existed for centuries, having been created shortly after the Imperius Curse was invented; however, that did not necessarily mean that the charm worked. In fact, it hadn't, or a least the way to make it do so had been lost for over three hundred years. Fortunately, the research of Lily Potter and the Unicorn Group had uncovered the roots of that mystery, as well, and even though they hadn't been able to completely fix all the problems with the charm (it was, for instance, a spell that took up an inordinate amount of time and energy from both the caster and the subject), at least the Imperius Detecting Charm functioned. Under good and/or ideal circumstances, anyway.

Of course, Sirius wasn't exactly in the best condition for the spell, but that couldn't be helped. Remus knew the stubborn look in his friend's eyes, and knew that there would be no avoiding it. Besides, Sirius was anything but stupid. He'd asked for Dumbledore for a reason. Because if anyone can pull this off, it's him, the headmaster admitted to himself, feeling his friend tense as the spell went to work. Remus would have gladly taken the charms consequences upon himself for Sirius, but he wasn't entirely confident in his own ability to control such old and powerful magic. To his knowledge, Dumbledore, Lily, and James were the only ones who had ever been able to make it work. Even Arabella had failed in the effort, and repeatedly. His own efforts were hardly worth thinking about--but he tried to, in order to pass the time, and to keep his mind from worrying over every little twitch that Sirius' face made as the spell explored his psyche. Having a spell poke around in your head was never very fun. Or comfortable.

Finally, Dumbledore finished, and sat back as Sirius slumped--either in exhaustion or relief, Remus could not tell. The Minister took a long breath before speaking. "As difficult as it is to believe, Sirius," he said quietly, "you are clear. I can find nothing but the remnants of failed curses upon you."

Sirius blinked. "I had hoped..." He trailed off.

"What I do not understand is how," Dumbledore continued gently. "No one should have been able to withstand that for so long, especially in Azkaban."

"I don't know how I did," Sirius whispered. "I just didn't... I guess I just had something to hold on to...friends I wouldn't betray." He hesitated, and Remus watched his eyes flicker around the room as he struggled to find words. "Maybe if it had been something else, I would have given in...but Voldemort wanted something I would never give. And in the later years, when he gave up trying to get the Secret from me, that's what he wanted. He wanted to use me against my friends...and I wouldn't. I couldn't. I would have rathered die."

Remus squeezed his hand, and there was silence. No words could form in the face of what Sirius had done, where he had been, what he had lived through...and for. A long moment passed, in which Remus could only stare at his old friend, and he heard the ghost of a whisper running through his head. 'And no matter what happens between this moment and then, I shall always be thankful to have had such friends.' They had come full circle. The Marauders were back.

Behind Dumbledore, Snape suddenly cursed and clutched at his left forearm.

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

The mark burned, and Peter tensed, knowing what it meant. Knowing that it had been his choice, all those years ago, did not make the situation any better, but he knew what he had to do. Life, at times, wasn't pretty, but that was life. And he'd been a fool for most of it, perhaps excluding seven years, so he had to live with the consequences. Taking a deep breath, Peter Pettigrew Apparated, and found himself on Azkaban a mere second later.

Popular theory and common knowledge said that Azkaban was not only unplottable, but no one could Apparate there, either. Unfortunately, while the first was true, the second wasn't--not quite, anyway. There was one spot on the island where Apparation was possible, although that wasn't exactly a place that any sane witch or wizard would go to. The Dark Lord's inner sanctum was, after all, reserved for the sick, ambitious, or insane. In truth, Peter couldn't think of a Death Eater who didn't fit under one of those three categories, or hadn't once...especially if he added stupid to the list. Then it would have described him perfectly.

I don't want to be here, he thought for the millionth time. But it was only his soul thinking, and he'd learned to ignore that a long time ago. One had to, in order to survive in Voldemort's service.

The circle gathered around him as more Death Eaters Apparated. Although they were all masked, Peter's eyes picked out many of them by habit--he wasn't nearly as stupid as most of his colleagues believed him to be, after all--even though most of them had little or no idea who he was (just as he, in truth, couldn't identify more than half the people in the circle). Peter tried to conceal his anxiety. He hadn't been expecting this summons, and judging from the body language of the others, they hadn't been, either. Voldemort liked to keep his followers on their toes by calling them at odd hours, proving, as always, that he was their master, but there was a bit of a schedule to things. This unexpected meeting, however, was as far out of the ordinary as things could get.

The empty spaces in the circle worried him, too. Usually, when Voldemort summoned them, those who were always present at Azkaban arrived first. Now, however, the key positions at the head of the circle were empty--most noticeably, that of Lucius Malfoy, who always stood at the Dark Lord's right, and the Lestranges, who stood at his left. Less conspicuous was the absence of Severus Snape, who was always late. That, and Quirrell--who suddenly Apparated at Peter's left, startling him. He jumped, partially out of habit, but mostly to let the others think he really was the nervous fool they took him to be. Finally, Snape arrived, seemingly angry and out of breath, but that, too, was nothing new. They were only waiting on Voldemort, Malfoy, and the Lestranges.

Peter frowned beneath his mask. Odd, he thought to himself. Malfoy is usually one of the first, eager to prove--yet again--his devotion to the Dark Lord. Or perhaps his job is merely to keep the rest of us in check, although Snape does manage that rather well. Peter scowled in Snape's direction. Being a Death Eater would never change how much he hated the greasy git, no matter how long he spent in Voldemort's service. That thought prompted a bloodless smile. I doubt dear Severus would believe I am part of the fold, anyway, Peter thought darkly. With what he's always thought I am, and what I have really turned out to be... But that thought brought pain with it, so he pushed it aside. Peter had been a Death Eater for almost twelve years, now, and had hated the choice for at least eleven of them. At the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do...and as usual, he'd proved himself wrong.

He contained the sigh that threatened to rise. One might think he'd have pride at being Voldemort's longest lasting spy in the Order of the Phoenix, but all he'd ever felt was shame. The shame, however, had been tempered by the knowledge that there was no way out, so he'd managed as best as he could. On one hand, he'd served Voldemort, and on the other hand...he hadn't. Years ago, Dumbledore had asked him to join the Order's inner circle, and Peter had refused. He'd cited his own fears, but really, he hadn't wanted to give the Dark Lord that window into Dumbledore's secrets. Keeping secrets from the Dark Lord was a costly business (as he'd found out a week ago with the animagus incident), but at least it kept his conscience in check. Sort of.

The last four arrived together, with stormy temper carved deeply into all three Death Eater's faces. However, Peter focused on Malfoy and the Lestranges' anger for only a moment; Voldemort's obvious fury made them insignificant in comparison. Peter had to fight the urge to take an instinctive step backwards, and noticed, out of the corner of his eye, when Quirrell was less successful in overcoming the same desire. The turban-wearing Death Eater stumbled as he tried to cover up his mistake, fooling no one in the circle but somehow avoiding Voldemort's attention. After a moment, it was clear that was because the Dark Lord had more important matters to consider.

"My loyal Death Eaters..." Voldemort's high voice seemed sharper than usual, and his red eyes were burning fire. "I have a most urgent mission for you all."

There were the usual whispers coming from around the circle, and Peter joined in, mumbling what was to be expected, about how they were at his service, ready to do his bidding...the same old thing. He'd been doing it for years.

"A prisoner has escaped Azkaban," the Dark Lord hissed.

A ripple of shock ran through the assembled Death Eaters, and this time, the whispers were real. They were shocked, and Peter felt a flash of fear--who might it be? Who could manage such a thing--?

"I want him found." Voldemort's voice grew dark and hard. His eyes scorched any who were foolish enough to look at his face. "I want him brought back. Alive, if possible, but dead if not. Immediately, and at any and all costs. Do not fail me!"

There was silence for a long moment as their master's fury lashed at them all. Peter shivered in the emptiness, wondering who would break it, and face the Dark Lord's wrath. Finally, it was Snape who dared to ask the question, but Peter never expected the answer to turn his world upside down.

"Forgive me, Master, but whom are we seeking?" the second ranking Death Eater asked in his icily smooth voice.

"Sirius Black."

Peter felt his soul do a back flip. He felt ten years of sorrow and regret come crashing down into reality. Suddenly, everything that had ever mattered didn't matter anymore, and he found himself wondering in helpless disbelief. But he's dead! his head wailed. You killed him! But it was his heart that responded with wild beating that Peter couldn't hope to calm. Sirius was alive. Sirius was alive, and out there somewhere, having escaped Azkaban somehow--thank God that Voldemort didn't know about Sirius' animagus form. It would give him at least a chance of a sort, something that no one understood or expected...

The meeting was breaking up, and Peter felt his head spinning too wildly to Apparate, but he had to leave quickly, before it occurred to Voldemort that he might know something of use. Absent mindedly, he found himself rubbing the still burning mark on his left forearm as he watched Snape walk off, alone, with the Dark Lord. The mark would never fade, he knew. It was too late for him; there was no way out. But for others...it wasn't too late for others. Not for Sirius, or for James, or for Remus... He'd entangled himself in this horrible situation in the oddest of fashions, by trying to protect the friends who had spent so long looking out for him. He'd been promised, the day that he took up the mark, that his friends would live and remain unharmed, and had the promised betrayed not a year later, when Voldemort had sought to kill Lily and James, and had in turn taken Sirius...

Peter took a deep breath and stilled his raging mind. He had to leave. No matter what road lay before him, he knew what to do now. He knew where he had to go.

With a conscious effort, he tore his right hand away from the mark and Apparated.