Promises Unbroken

Promises Unbroken

Chapter Twenty-Two: At Any and All Costs

Classes continued as usual, despite the slight air of tension that all the professors seemed to share. The rumor lapped around the castle and back again that the mysterious wizard in the hospital wing was Sirius Black, newly escaped from Azkaban and now at the top of You-Know-Who's hit list. Some, of course, thought that the story was absolutely false, but there were others (Harry included) who knew better. He'd had to share that information with Ron and Hermione, of course, and hadn't had to share it with Fred or George; the twins had guessed, and what the Weasleys knew, Lee Jordan knew. So the Misfits were a shade ahead of the rest, and only laughed when Malfoy and his cronies claimed that no one could ever escape Azkaban.

Harry visited his godfather three times in that first week, originally with Remus, but later on his own. The contrast in Sirius was odd: there were times when he could laugh and joke like he had when Harry had first met him, and there were others where he grew quiet and haunted, where his eyes were distant and his mind trapped in its own hell. Harry never asked, and Sirius never told, but he understood that his father's oldest friend had been in places where nightmares were real, and in still darker ones, too, where plain nightmares would have been the stuff of fantasies. Despite that, life went on at Hogwarts. The slow crawl of the school year was back underway, and things were as usual as they could be in the midst of a war between light and dark.

But a ripple ran through the Great Hall one morning, when the headmaster entered with another man at his side. He wore robes of such a dark blue that they were almost black, and walked with a slight limp that favored his right leg. His features were still gaunt, but they bore more color now, and his shoulder-length black hair seemed fuller as well. His humor, too, seemed to have improved as he argued good-naturedly with Remus over something or another.

"Is that him?" Fred asked from his right.

Harry grinned. "Yeah."

Suddenly, his godfather caught his eye and smiled; Harry waved in return. However, Sirius' smile disappeared quickly as he traded a poisonous look with Professor Snape, and Harry watched the two of them with interest. Although they might have been on the same side, the two clearly were not friends, for if looks could kill, both would have been felled in a second, along with anyone standing in between.

Snape sneered.

Sirius snorted.

Remus intervened.

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"Sit." The hard hand that yanked Sirius' chair away from the head table revealed Remus' irritation; the headmaster had--forever the peacemaker, both in childhood and now--sensibly placed himself between his old friend and his deputy.

"I'm not an invalid, Remus," Sirius groused. But he sat. There was no arguing with that expression.

"No, but you're close enough," his old friend replied quietly. "You're lucky you didn't lose that leg, you know."

Sirius sighed. The complicated break and the old infection had almost made Poppy take it off, and the fact that he still walked with a limp was enough to drive him insane. "I know."

"Pity," Snape mumbled from Remus' left. Sirius, for his part, was unsurprised, but the headmaster swung in his chair to face the other man.

"I will not sit through a battle over breakfast," he hissed. "Be civil."

Amazingly enough, Snape relented. But he did scowl. "I will do so if your hot-headed friend agrees not to provoke me."

Provoke? Sirius nearly laughed out loud, but he stopped himself in time. He'd spoken only a handful of words to Snape in the last decade; he had no intention of provoking the git...or at least not over breakfast, anyway. Besides, after the last ten years in Voldemort's hands, any childish insults or pranks either he or Snape might indulge in seemed very, very, minor. He merely raised his eyebrows. "Gladly."

Remus' pointed look told Sirius had he had read what was behind the reply, which meant: I hate your guts, but I have bigger problems than you. Without a further word, Snape turned away and engaged Mundungus Fletcher in conversation, clearly willing to deny the fact that Sirius even existed--which, by the way, was just fine by Sirius. He was too worried about learning how to live again without forcing one Severus Snape into the equation.

Breakfast arrived in the proverbial blink of the eye--otherwise known as typical Hogwarts house-elf fashion: perfectly. To Sirius, of course, any amount of normal food would have seemed perfect; it had taken him the entire week he had spent in the Hospital Wing to remember what real food was like. What he'd been fed in Voldemort's keeping hadn't been worthy of the name, and the richness of Hogwarts' fare still could throw him for a loop and upset his unexpectedly delicate stomach. So Sirius picked at his breakfast rather carefully, listening to the murmur of conversation in the Great Hall, and reflecting upon how little things had actually changed.

In Azkaban, where he'd spent five hellish years (having the dubious honor of being the first prisoner delivered by Voldemort into the place), it had been hard to remember that there had been a world outside. Towards the end, it had been nearly impossible...until he'd heard Peter, and felt bitterness well up inside him like he hadn't imagined possible. But he had forgiven his friend, not for the least of reasons because the other Marauders needed him to. Peter had made the right choice, albeit a little late--and Sirius couldn't deny his friends their complete and restored fellowship. In truth, he couldn't deny it to himself, either, for it was the thought of his friends that had kept him alive for so long, first in Voldemort's private domain, and later in Azkaban. Hell.

A shiver ran down his spine, and Sirius fought to control it. He didn't want to deal with it. Not now, with the sun shining and children laughing within the hall. Laughter--hope--innocence. He'd been robbed of all three for too long, and began to wonder if he'd ever get them back.

There were moments, of course. He'd surprised himself by laughing with James, Remus, and Peter on that very first day. True, they had been far more jovial than he, but he'd smiled, and done it without meaning to. There was much to be said for the healing power of friendship--and yet, despite the strides he'd made, Sirius knew even that wasn't enough. He was far from healed, and would not come close for a very long time. He knew his demons. He'd been living with only their company for a decade.

Pain.

In the flash of a second, he was back there.

"Tell me," the cold voice demanded, but as always, he denied it. He had to be strong, strong for his friends, for James...

"Tell me."

Pain.

"I won't betray my friends." Again, pain. It was nothing new, but still, his soul struggled not to crumble under the onslaught. He could withstand it. He had to.

A cold, cold hand on his face.

"Betrayal? What is betrayal, for friends who have left you for dead?"

"Sirius?"

With a start, he snapped out of the memory. He shook his head. In truth, he didn't remember the exact moment that was from; it could have been one of a million. Voldemort had desperately wanted the Potters. He still did.

"Are you all right?" Remus' hand was on his shoulder, and Sirius had to force himself not to shudder. He was still trying to remember that a human touch need not be equated with pain.

"I'm fine," he said quietly, blinking the memories away once more. "Just thinking."

"Right..."

The unspoken question, the unspoken offer. We are here if you need us, Remus' concerned look said, and Sirius forced a smile for his friend's sake. He knew. He even understood. He just wasn't ready yet. It had been too long. Remus squeezed his shoulder, once and gently, but then the touch was gone. Remus understood demons. He faced his every month.

But the silence reigned between them, becoming uncomfortable. Remus clearly didn't know what to say, didn't know how to react around him--just as Sirius was still trying to remember how to be human. They were brothers, yes--but this brother had been gone for a long time. Finally, when he could bear the quiet no longer, Sirius spoke quietly.

"It's odd," he mused. "How so many things change, yet so much remains the same."

"All things change...but not everything," Remus responded softly. It was something they used to say, in that life gone past.

"I hope," Sirius mumbled.

He picked at his breakfast listlessly. He knew he should eat, really, but he wasn't very hungry; Pomfrey, however, would have lectured him to high heaven if she saw how little he'd eaten. Fortunately, she wasn't in the Great Hall at the moment, and Sirius was home free. He knew he had to gain his weight back (and had recovered some of that already, thank you very much), but at the moment, looking out at the smiling and laughing students--shadows of his happier past that he had clung to for so long--he simply had no appetite. On one hand, it was relieving to see that even in this dark world, Hogwarts carried on...but on the other, when his eyes rested upon the Slytherin table, he was reminded of how many of his classmates followed the dark path, and wondered how many of these children would follow in their parents' footsteps.

He hoped not many, but wasn't fool enough to count on that. But as before, Hogwarts was the middle ground, the neutral territory--firmly on the side of the light, yet the choosing ground for so many. Here, their lives' decisions were made. Upon the day of his graduation, when so many paths were taken, Dumbledore had said: "Today you leave us, and enter a world much different from the one you left seven years ago. You are men now, and women, and it is to you that the decisions fall. And there may come a day, either soon to come or far in the future, when you must choose between what is right and what is easy..."

He had chosen. So had many others.

"Sirius?" Remus asked again.

He turned his head slightly. "Yes?"

"I've got to go," the headmaster responded. "Severus and I have a meeting with Crouch in a half hour."

"Crouch?" he asked in confusion.

"The Deputy Minister of Magic."

So much had changed... "Who's the head of DMLE, then?"

"Arabella Figg."

Because Moody was dead. He knew that much. Voldemort had made sure to tell him that personally, four years ago. It was one of his clearest Azkaban memories, aside from the pain. The Dark Lord had always rejoiced in slaying the strong. And Alastor had been his Mentor, all those years ago. Memories... All he could manage to reply was, "Oh."

"Are you going to be all right?" Remus asked with concern.

Irritation flashed. For a moment, Sirius had to resist the urge to snap back at him--I'm not an invalid, dammit!--but he stayed his tongue. Remus only asked because he cared, Sirius knew, and it wouldn't be very nice to argue with that. Care was just such an alien feeling... "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"You're certain?"

"I'm certain, Moony," Sirius replied with a bit of a warning glare. It wouldn't do to let Remus take it too far, after all. But he had to relent a tad. "I'll lie down after breakfast, I promise."

One eyebrow arched; only Remus could make doubt look so elegant and polite.

"Really. I promised Pomfrey I would, and if I don't, she'll hex me six ways 'till Sunday," he clarified.

Remus smiled. "Ah. I see."

"I bet you do," Sirius grumbled as his friend rose.

"Shall we, Severus?" the headmaster asked politely.

"Indeed," Snape replied dryly. Remus nodded to Sirius in farewell, but Snape ignored his presence entirely, thus proving that not everything changed. An odd smile threatened to rise on Sirius' face, but he shook his head, wondering at his own obscure sense of humor. If nothing else, ten years in Voldemort's hands had changed him into one hell of a cynic.

Slowly, the head table emptied as professors left to prepare for their classes; finally, only Sirius, Sprout, and Quirrell remained. Sprout, he figured, had little to do to make a greenhouse ready (what could one do to prepare plants, anyway?), but the poor woman must have become lonely quickly, because she all but fled only seconds after Fletcher departed. Of course, Sirius wasn't exactly a conversationalist--he was anything but, busy as he was, staring off into the distance and still struggling to come to terms with the world--and Quirrell, judging from his stuttering attempts at conversation earlier, wasn't much better. After the dumpy head of Hufflepuff's departure, then, Sirius was left in utter peace, sitting near the center of the table when Quirrell was all the way down the at the left end. A perfect situation, to his mind.

He half-heartedly picked at his eggs and decided that they needed more salt. However, when he reached for the saltshaker, he found, much to his surprise, that it was significantly lighter than it had been in before (he'd used it only a few minutes ago) and turned out to be empty. Sirius scowled. Why me? Sighing, he turned to Quirrell, and noticed that there was indeed another saltshaker down at that end of the table.

"Would you pass me the salt, please?" he asked.

"Of...c-course," the professor replied, and Sirius wondered how his students learned anything through that stutter. It had to be impossible to understand... Regardless, the saltshaker came sliding smoothly down the table towards him, propelled by a quick flicker of Quirrell's wand.

Instincts long in the grave flagged. Instead of touching the shaker, Sirius reached out and used his glass of orange juice to stop its journey. A soft clink sounded as the shaker touched the glass, and Sirius make a conscious effort to turn casually to the Dark Arts professor.

"Thank you," he said politely, even as his instincts fairly screamed for attention. A sharp feeling prickled on the back of his neck. Cautiously, Sirius sipped his orange juice, placing the glass down precisely in the same place where it had started.

A shiver raced up his spine, and he felt it. Felt it--Dark magic. The longer he was exposed to it, the more attuned he became--

Again, instinct reacted far faster than his outclassed brain could handle, and as motion caught the corner of his gaze, Sirius dove from his chair and to the left, hoping to use the table as a temporary shield. His healing bones wailed in protest. Red light flashed over his head, and his chair exploded, spraying wood fragments everywhere--some hit him, but he hardly cared--students were screaming and shouting--Quirrell was on his feet--

Sirius grabbed Remus' chair and threw it with all his might. In his weakened condition, it would never have reached Quirrell, but it was distraction enough. The Death Eater--he had to be a Death Eater!--paused to blast the offending piece of furniture into smithereens before refocusing his attention on Sirius. Oh, shite. This was his first duel in ten years, and he didn't even have a wand. I am so dead. Time slowed down to a crawl, and he no longer felt the pain. Instinct and training reawakened.

"Stupefy!"

He rolled, thanking his lucky stars that Quirrell obviously didn't intend to kill him, and the sturdy head table proved to be his salvation. Without quite meaning to, Sirius had ended up mostly underneath the table, and it shielded him from Quirrell--but only for a moment. Through the white tablecloth, he spied feet coming around the table's end, and knew that he didn't have long. Where the hell is everyone else, anyway? The remaining students were probably only staring, but they were just kids, and this was one of their professors against some stranger they hardly knew--if any of them did jump in, it would probably be on Quirrell's side, anyway! Gritting his teeth, Sirius devoutly prayed that they'd leave this one to their elders.

Irrelevantly, the thought came to mind: I'm going to kill Snape! Nice warning he gave me, that.

Growling in a fashion that bore an uncanny resemblance to his animagus form, Sirius desperately reached up with his right hand, groping on the tabletop for anything of use. At this point, he'd be willing to try anything, be it plates, forks, or even peppershakers (but not that infernal saltshaker, which had started this whole debacle and the corner of his mind was certain had some purpose)--finally, his frantic fingers landed on something hard and cylindrical.

Beachwood, very firm, and something around eleven inches.

His fingers closed on it, and his mind went blank. Frantically, Sirius rolled out from under the table (which could only now hamper his movement), grabbing a plate with his left hand as he went. It, along with Sirius' former breakfast, flew at Quirrell, and due to some extraordinary stroke of luck, hit him full in the face, fried eggs, bacon, toast and all. The professor snarled and jumped away, momentarily blinded and distracted.

Sirius' mind raced as he rolled into a familiar crouch with his left hand forward and his wand held close by his right side in a ready position. It was the unorthodox dueling stance he'd favored so many years ago--Spell, spell, I need a damn spell! His memory was irritatingly empty, and he could only watch in helpless fascination as another wave of Quirrell's wand made the shattered remnants of his breakfast cease to exist. The wand came around and zeroed in on him as his mind turned over, jumped, and did a little jig as it struggled to remember the magic it hadn't been called upon to perform in ten years.

"Impedimenta!" Once, he would have been a lot more creative, but there was no time for niceties, now. Quirrell stopped in mid-movement, but struggled against the curse, which wasn't, in truth, strong enough to stop a determined and experienced wizard.

Wanting him alive seemed to limit the professor's options. Either that, or he wasn't very original. "Stup--"

"Everbero!" No time for being nice. Sirius' wand snapped up and Quirrell went flying, hitting the back wall hard enough to leave a dent. He thought the other wizard was unconscious, but there was no telling. "Expelliarmus!"

Quirrell's wand flew neatly into his left hand, and the professor did not move. Sirius rose cautiously from his crouch, painfully aware of the throbbing pain in his right leg now that everything was over. He glanced around, and time sped up once more. Bang.

To his right, the teachers' private door burst open, revealing Remus, who was followed very closely by Snape and--Oh, this will make my day--Barty Crouch, Senior, the Deputy Minister of Magic. Both Remus and Crouch had their wands out and ready, although Snape did not... Realization dawned, and Sirius glanced down at the wand he still grasped in his right hand. How interesting... He would have never thought Snape's wand would suit him so well--although he certainly would not have liked to try complicated spell work with it, even if he hadn't been so out of practice. But for simple spells...

Snape's dark eyes were focused on him, making Sirius sure that this had been no accident. Well, this certainly proves he's on our side, anyway, he thought wryly. He met his old rival's gaze evenly.

"I believe you left this behind, Professor," he said coolly, trying not to favor his right leg. Life sucks, he told himself acidly. Get over it.

"Indeed." Snape's tone was positively frosty.

Sirius allowed himself a slight smile. "I would thank you for the loan of it, although I'm sure that was not your purpose in misplacing it."

"It was not precisely my intention," Snape sneered, but Sirius could have laughed. Oh, he hated the man, and probably always would--but there was potential there, indeed. He'd never thought Snape was stupid, after all. Only a greasy and insufferable git.

Odd how some things never changed.

From his right, Remus asked: "Are you all right, Sirius?"

Sirius nodded after a moment, staring once more at Quirrell. "Yeah." His eyes narrowed, and he felt an old focus flirt with his consciousness. "I need a wand."

"Tell me about it," Remus breathed so only they could hear, and Sirius tore his eyes away from Quirrell's unconscious form so that they could share a slight smile. But then the headmaster looked towards Snape, and Sirius watched the moment of silent communication pass between them as Remus' eyes flickered towards the assembled students and back once more. The Deputy Headmaster nodded.

"I will deal with them."

Without even waiting for Remus' reply, Snape strode forward, speaking to the students as he went and telling them to go to class. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius noticed Harry start forward, presumably to speak to him, but Snape intercepted him and sent him on his way. Sirius frowned momentarily, reading intense dislike on both Harry and the professor's features, but let it pass. Harry was, after all, James' son, and perfectly entitled to hate one Severus Snape. That, at the very least, could be expected--but Remus was speaking, so he refocused his attention hurriedly.

"What happened?"

"The saltshaker," Sirius responded absently.

"What?" His friend was looking at him very strangely.

Sirius made his way back to the half-destroyed head table, hating the way he limped as he did so. His leg was rather enthusiastic about reminding him that he wasn't healed, and now his aching ribs were chiming in, too. "I asked him to pass the salt," he explained, gesturing. "I think it's a Portkey."

"Ah..." A flicker of Remus' wand brought the saltshaker floating into the air; neither of them were foolish enough to touch it. His eyes grew concerned. "He wants you badly, Sirius."

"Yes." His throat was suddenly tight, and dark memories surfaced. Four years he'd been an Auror, and a good one, but never such a threat that he was near the top of Voldemort's list. Now, however, he had an eerie feeling that he was the list.

The reasonable corner of Sirius' brain pointed out that thought should frighten him, but it could no longer. He was beyond that, far beyond. Even with the nightmares that haunted him day and night, Dreamless Sleep Potion or no (which he hadn't told anyone and had no intention of doing), he could no longer fear Voldemort. Or, at least it wasn't an all-encompassing fear, and it was nothing approaching terror. He hated the monster too much for that. Maybe it was foolish, but years of pain and torture could have done only one of two things to him: either broken his hear and soul, or burned the fear away.

In a colder outlook on life than he'd ever had, Sirius had chosen the second.

He had only regretted that when he'd realized that he could never again quite be the man he had been before. Perhaps some day he would heal, he knew--possibly. Or maybe he wouldn't. Either was possible, and he had Voldemort to thank for that. He had Voldemort to hate for a lot of things.

"Sirius? Are you all right?" Remus repeated, touching his shoulder lightly.

He flinched without meaning to. "Sorry. I was thinking."

"Brooding, more like," was the light reply. But his friend was frowning worriedly. Remus didn't miss much.

"That, too," he tried to force a smile but failed. It usually did. Burning, more like, Sirius thought to himself.

"Let's go to my office," Remus said quietly. "I think we have some...questions to answer."

"Oh?" He arched an eyebrow; then he noticed the untrusting way in which Crouch was watching him. But the hostility radiating from the older man rolled off Sirius without mattering. After staring Voldemort down, there were few things that could bother him, and Crouch was nowhere on that list. "Right."

Together, the headmaster, deputy minister, and former prisoner made their way to Remus' office, speaking very little along the way. Snape, in the meantime, was locking Quirrell away--something that, as Remus informed Crouch with a slight snarl, he could be perfectly well trusted in doing. Sirius frowned slightly, thinking that he'd never expected to have anything in common with the detestable head of Slytherin, but it seemed that Crouch was willing to trust neither of them. Then again, that wasn't very new; Crouch was a highly obsessed and suspicious individual. Sirius had known that ever since he became an Auror.

At least Crouch had the good grace to wait until the door was shut and they were all seated before speaking. "I am glad to see," he remarked acidly, "that battles are served for breakfast at Hogwarts these days."

Remus bristled, but Crouch continued:

"I'm especially gratified to see that you have continued your predecessor's record of hiring Death Eaters as members of your staff." His gray eyes flashed over to Sirius. "And I can tell that you harbor them as well."

"What?" Remus got the word out a half second before Sirius could speak, so Sirius took a calculatedly deep breath and sat back with forced calm. This was Remus' battle...but God help that bastard if he went too far.

"Oh, come now, Headmaster," Crouch snapped. "You can't honestly think that a man can spend a decade in the Dark Lord's hands without becoming his creature? That is," he continued darkly, "if he even is who he claims to be."

Sirius felt his temper rise, but he choked an angry response back. Those ten years had taught him that, taught him control like he'd never believed he'd have. Instead, he let the anger boil under the surface, carefully managed, yet always there. "I am," he said very quietly, "Sirius Black. And I am not, as you so aptly put it, one of Voldemort's creatures. Nor am I a Death Eater."

"I would also think," Remus continued smoothly, picking up where he left off, "that you would have more confidence in your superior's abilities to detect a curse than you imply. Dumbledore has, of course, already agreed with me in this matter."

Crouch's eyes burned into Sirius now. "I'm not implying that there are any curses in play here."

"Then it's simply an issue of trust, isn't it?" Sirius met his angry gaze evenly.

"I suppose you're going to trust him just like you trusted Quirrell, then, aren't you?" the deputy minister snapped at Remus.

"No," the headmaster replied evenly. "I knew Quirrell was a Death Eater."

"What? And you didn't see fit to notify the Ministry about this minor fact?"

"I didn't see fit to notify you. There is a difference." Sirius had to appreciate Remus' ruthless streak. Poor Crouch... And his friend continued, "Besides, you can't have it both ways. I doubt that that Dark Lord would want to capture one of his own, if, as you claim, Sirius is a Death Eater."

"Camouflage," Crouch snorted.

"Not likely."

"I suppose you know his mind then, do you Lupin? Perhaps we might want to investigate you next."

"Threaten all you want, Crouch. It won't get you very far," Remus replied evenly. But his eyes were narrowing, which Sirius knew from long experience was a very important warning sign--but Crouch missed it completely.

"I'm not threatening anything," the deputy minister bristled. "Simply expressing concerns about the running of this school."

"Then I ought to be grateful that I don't work for you, shouldn't I?"

"Hogwarts is subject to Ministry oversight."

"From the Minister, yes," Remus replied. "Not you. And the school governors are the only ones who could remove me, if they found reason to do so, which they have not."

"Don't think there aren't other ways, Lupin," Crouch growled.

Remus' nostrils flared in anger just as Snape entered the office. "What I think is that I am beginning to understand your purpose in coming here, Mr. Crouch. I assure you that any plot you advance against Dumbledore will not succeed--and you will find no support at Hogwarts for such a thing. Do not be a fool and doom the entire Wizarding World merely for the sake of your ambition!"

"How dare you--" Crouch was on his feet.

"How dare I what?" Remus demanded furiously. He suddenly standing as well, and his blue eyes were flashing dangerously at Crouch.

In the doorway, Snape stood frozen, probably transfixed by the display of his headmaster's rare yet very dangerous temper. There was a tense moment of silence as the two stared each other down, but finally, Crouch opened his mouth to speak.

"I believe this meeting is over, Minister," Remus cut him off. "You are no longer welcome at Hogwarts."

"You have no authority over me," Crouch snapped.

Remus' voice grew quiet. "Get out."

The deputy minister stared for a moment more, and then, suddenly unable to meet Remus' implacable gaze, left in a flash of sweeping robes and angry strides. Snape stepped out of his way with a characteristic sneer--but for once, Sirius agreed with him completely. Crouch attempted to slam the door behind him, but Snape caught it in time and closed the door quietly as Remus let out a quiet breath, clearly struggling for control of his temper.

"Remind me," Snape said philosophically into the growing silence, "never to make you that angry."

"It doesn't happen very often." Remus scrubbed a hand over his tired features.

"What happened?" Snape asked.

Remus sighed. "You might as well sit down, Severus. It's going to be a long story."