Promises Unbroken

Promises Unbroken

Chapter Twenty-Three: Right versus Easy

"Why did you leave the wand?" Sirius asked suddenly. He'd been quiet until then, merely listening to Remus and Snape discuss Crouch's inevitable power play, but as the conversation dwindled, he spoke up.

"Because Voldemort wants you," Snape answered simply.

"I'm well aware of that, thank you," Sirius replied dryly. Images flashed through his mind's eye.

A room. Once an interrogation room in Azkaban, now a torture chamber. Voldemort. "Crucio!"

Pain.

"Imperio!"

Battle.

Anger and more pain. Voices talking--he could no longer make out words. More anger. Yet the voice was very cold and precise.

"Mandatus Pros--"

Suddenly, Sirius realized that Snape had replied while he wasn't listening. He swallowed, shook his head. "Sorry, could you please repeat that?" he said quietly through dry lips. "I was...elsewhere."

Remus' worried eyes were focused on him again. Sirius forced himself to ignore it.

"As I was saying," Snape replied with a trace of irritation, "I doubt that anyone could be more aware of the Dark Lord's desires than you. However, I did not think it prudent to leave you without a wand. Even with that numbskull, Quirrell."

"You're still risking him tracing it back to you," Sirius replied.

Snape shrugged. "Pure accident."

"He won't believe that." Why the hell was he concerned for Snape? Sirius frowned. Perhaps it was simply because Snape had helped him, but maybe it was just because he didn't feel anyone deserved to face Voldemort's wrath. Or, at least not anyone on our side, anyway. He shivered.

"I've faced worse," the spy replied archly. "Besides, Black, I can take care of myself, thank you very much."

Sirius bristled. So much for trying to help the bastard. "I never thought you couldn't."

"Indeed." Snape rolled his eyes.

In their youth, they might have taken the argument further, but now it just wasn't worth the energy required. Besides, Remus spoke before either could:

"Do you know why he wants you so badly, Sirius?"

"You will break and you will die," the cold voice hissed. " In the end, they all do..." He shook his head, struggling to clear it.

"No," Sirius whispered quietly, staring at the floor. "Not really."

There was a moment of silence, which Snape finally filled. "Aside from the fact that his escape has shattered Azkaban's legend of security and proved that the Dark Lord is not infallible..." He let out a hissed breath from between clenched teeth. "There has to be something more."

"Do you have any idea, Sirius?" Remus asked gently. "Anything at all?"

"I don't... I don't really...remember." He scraped a tired hand through his hair, pushing it away from his eyes. Sirius tried to explain. "I mean, I remember too much...but not enough. I don't know. I just can't remember."

"Perhaps it's related to something you've seen...?" Remus wondered.

Sirius shrugged, but Snape suddenly asked. "Where were you before Azkaban?"

"Casa Serpente."

Snape whistled softly. "The Slytherin House."

"Where?" Remus asked with slight confusion. After all, Sirius knew as well as he did that Casa Serpente was supposed to be a legend--but fortunately, Snape explained.

"Salazar Slytherin's ancestral holdings," he clarified. "Made Unplottable in 1473 and ceded to the Marvolos in the sixteenth century as the last of the Slytherin line. I don't know of any Death Eater who has been there."

"Malfoy. And Nott," Sirius said quietly. More memories surfaced, but he forced them aside. Now was not the time.

"Could that be it?" Remus wondered. "The location of Casa Serpente?"

Sirius shook his head. "I couldn't lead you there any more than he could." He jerked his head towards Snape. He shivered again, and tried to hide it behind calm words. "I was brought there unconscious, and moved to Azkaban the same way."

"Ah."

"There's something you are not saying," Snape remarked, making Sirius' head come up suspiciously.

"What do you mean?" he frowned.

"I have never seen the Dark Lord so furious over one individual," the spy replied quietly. "Not Potter, or even Dumbledore. Either you or he has done something that has made this important. Or personal."

"Great," Sirius whispered dryly.

"You don't remember why, though, do you?" Remus asked.

"No."

"Do you remember anything?" Snape pressed. "Words, images, incidents...?"

An angry voice spoke the final spell. "Mandatus Prospico--" Sirius shook his head.

"No."

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

Bill awoke to a tapping near his right ear. Startled, he jerked awake, immediately regretting the abrupt movement as his head began to pound, but the tapping didn't stop. In fact, it seemed real, unlike most of the sounds--memories--he had been hearing as of late. Blinking, Bill frowned and tried to follow the sound to its source.

He'd been in the darkness for so long now that his eyes were well adjusted. The only light he ever saw was the one inside a torture chamber, and he had no desire to remember that unless he had to--Focus, Weasley, he told himself firmly. But that was getting harder to do as the days went by, and his body ached as he moved. As near as he could tell, he didn't have any broken bones (although at least one of his ribs was certainly bruised), but he hurt. Everything hurt, and his limbs weren't exactly eager to respond to his commands, but after a bit of convincing, Bill managed to make his body shift along his cell's right wall until the tapping grew slightly louder. Feeling cautiously with his fingers, he finally found a small hole.

It was almost impossible to see, even with his eyes used to the lack of light. However, he could feel it--and Bill fell back with a startled yelp as his finger suddenly made contact with not stone but another finger. Flesh and blood.

Someone else.

His heart pounded in his ears, and Bill had to force himself to breathe normally. There was absolute silence for a moment, perfect stillness...it was hard to believe that he hadn't imagined things, but as he cautiously felt for the hole once more, he found that it was still there. Maybe I'm just hallucinating, he thought, but my hallucinations usually aren't this kind. Bill shivered, but only with memory. The longer he spent in Azkaban (although he had no idea how much time that had been, now), he became more attuned to the Dementors, and he knew that there were none nearby right now. After all, Voldemort needed sane prisoners for information, so he kept the Dementors from doing anything more severe than torturing them.

As if that wasn't enough. He swallowed, and refocused on the situation at hand. Had he really felt someone else, or was he only dreaming? Maybe he was going insane, but there was only one way to tell. Bill pulled his finger away from the hole and leaned his head towards its opening.

"Hello?" he whispered cautiously.

"Hello...?" another voice echoed his own, but this one was deeper and scratchier than Bill's. For a moment, it seemed impossible to breathe.

"Who are you?" he finally managed to ask.

"Who are you?"

Bill hesitated, knowing that this could be a trap. But what use could it be? Surely he wasn't important enough to put so much effort into tricking, and besides, he need not say anything that the Death Eaters didn't already know... He let out a shaky breath. Common sense told him not to answer the question, but the promise of human companionship--of no longer being alone--was far too tempting. Even for the strong, Azkaban was terrifying, and even the week he would have spent would have been too long.

"Bill," he answered.

There was a pause, and he began to think that he was hallucinating and there was no one there. Horrible emptiness welled up inside him, and Bill closed his eyes, trying to shut the loneliness and despair away. In Azkaban, either could kill him--but finally, there was a response, and the scratchy voice whispered:

"Frank."

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

"You realize this is one hell of an unbelievable coincidence, James."

James sat back in the comfortable leather chair across from his superior's desk. "Yeah," he shrugged. "Probably."

"Probably, hell!" Arabella spat. "First, we have Sirius Black return from the dead--miraculously escaping Azkaban under circumstances that even he can't fully explain. Second, we have Peter Pettigrew suddenly and simultaneously growing a spine and a conscience, and deciding that he doesn't want to be a Death Eater any more. You think this chain of events is anything other than strange?"

"No," James said quietly. "But I know that it's real."

"Look, I know they are your friends, but you've got to look at this objectively." Arabella's voice had gone gentle and soft, and James hated it when she did that. It reminded him of his mother.

"Objectively?" he echoed. "Let's try this for objective: how many people know I'm an animagus?"

She frowned, unable to see the connection. "A handful. Why?"

"Eight, to be exact. You, me, Dumbledore, Lily, Harry, Remus, Peter, and Sirius," James responded. "Hell, you don't even know when I became one, do you?"

"No." Arabella eyed him suspiciously. "Get to the point."

"Fifth year at Hogwarts. Me, Peter, and Sirius become Animagi so we can be with Remus when he transforms. Peter registered, but the number of people who knew of Sirius is even less, and you can't fake a big black dog that looks like a Grim."

"We've established that it's him. That's not the problem."

James sighed and tried not to look betrayed. Her concerns were justified, no matter how much he hated them. "You think Voldemort broke him."

"What else can I think? You and I both know what that place does to people, and no one has ever escaped Azkaban--not in two hundred years! And after a decade in Voldemort's hands, with probably five of them spent in Azkaban, any witch or wizard would break. Look what two weeks did to Dung, James."

"Sirius didn't break," he replied stubbornly.

"How do you know?" she challenged him. "How can you be sure? I just can't believe that he could come out of that place sane and free. Why now? And why him?"

"I can't answer that, but I know him, 'Bella," James said, trying to contain his temper. "I know Sirius like I know myself. I know he's telling the truth."

She frowned. "He's your friend. I understand why you want to believe him, but--"

"But what?" he echoed. "If you'd taken one look in his eyes, you'd know that he didn't come out of Azkaban unscathed. I've never seen someone so haunted or so hurt by what's been done to them. You can't fake the pain in his eyes, or the determination that it took him to get to Hogwarts--he won't even talk about that, but I know it had to be hell. He almost died doing that, 'Bella, and Voldemort certainly wouldn't have done to him what he did if he wanted him to be able to move."

James took a deep breath before continuing. "Add to that the Voldemort wants him captured more than he wants anything--which we've learned from both Peter and Snape--and the evidence becomes insurmountable. Dumbledore believes it, too."

"All right, then," his old Mentor sighed. She wasn't happy, but then again, James knew that Arabella hadn't survived almost fifty years in Magical Law Enforcement by being trusting and careless. Her instincts were usually right in situations like this--but for once, James was glad to know she was wrong. "Albus is talking to Pettigrew now, isn't he?"

"Yes."

She sat back unhappily. "Then I guess we wait."

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

"What can I do?" Peter asked.

Dumbledore arched one silver eyebrow, but Peter found it hard to meet his eyes. Then again, he hadn't been able to do that since he'd walked into the Minister's inner office over an hour before. That intelligent gaze was unnerving. "What do you mean, Peter?"

He let out a careful breath. "I know I'm not the most powerful or courageous wizard in the world," Peter said quietly. "But I want to help. I've done so much wrong...I just want to do what's right. I want to help." He hesitated. "If you'll let me."

"If I'll 'let' you?" the old man echoed softly.

Peter could only shrug.

"Why would I not?" Dumbledore replied gently. "I think you fail to recognize what good you have already done, Peter. Although you may not realize it, you have shown exceptional courage in deceiving Lord Voldemort. Over the course of the last twelve years, you might have belonged to him in mind, but not in soul. In keeping faith with your friends, you have also remained loyal to the Order, and told him nothing he could not learn from other sources.

"So of course I will accept your help," the Minister continued. "But I must ask you if you understand the risks you will be taking."

Peter swallowed. "I do."

And for once in his life, he did. Hours and hours of thinking had brought him to this point--years, really, if he considered it that way. This choice would also be his own, and it would probably damn him, but at least it was the right one. Finally, after over a dozen years of following false pathways, he had found the one he had wanted all along. Looking back, his decisions seemed so foolish, so naive--but he couldn't change those now. He could only walk forward with his head held high, and never look back.

"Then tell me what you would like to do," Dumbledore replied.

"Whatever you need me to." It took an effort, but Peter looked him in the eye. Seeing faint surprise on the old man's face, he tried to clarify: "I have so much to make up for--"

"Let us not speak of that."

Peter frowned "Why not? It's true, and I know it. I don't even understand why my friends forgive me..." he swallowed. "But I want to be worthy of their trust. Of your trust. I know it will take time, but I'm willing to do whatever is necessary."

"And you claim not to have courage, Peter?" Dumbledore chuckled gently. "What else do you call this, then?"

"Regret."

The Minister sighed. "Very well. The choice, however, is still up to you. On one hand, you may continue as others before you have, as a spy within Voldemort's circle, gathering information and passing it on to the Order. Or, on the other, you may chose the more dangerous route."

"More dangerous?" Peter's heart was pounding. Off the top of his head, he couldn't think of anything more dangerous than being a spy, but something in Dumbledore's voice told him there certainly was.

"Indeed. You can renounce the Dark Lord."

Something exploded inside Peter. Suddenly, he felt short of breath. "Is it possible?"

"With a great deal of courage, I believe it is." Dumbledore laid a gentle hand upon his arm. "I don't believe I need to tell you the risks in doing so, Peter--and remember, the choice is yours to make. I cannot choose for you. Nor can anyone else."

Freedom. The word soared into Peter's mind upon the wings of a prayer. For a moment, he allowed himself to luxuriate in the fantasy--freedom. What would it feel like to be free of Voldemort's control? Could he truly be the master of his own fate again? He could hardly dream of never again responding to the burn of the Dark Mark--yet the thought of the mark brought him immediately back to earth. It would never stop burning, he knew, until Voldemort was defeated. And with betrayal, he suspected that the burn would grow even worse. Betrayal, he knew, would probably mean his death--but might it not mean freedom as well? And would he not rather to die free than as a slave?

Yet, however intoxicating the idea of freedom was to him, Peter knew that it would not help the Order's cause. Yes, it would release him from his foolish choices (possibly to make even more foolish ones, but at least they would be honest decisions, now), but his own freedom had little importance when compared with that of the rest of the Wizarding world. He'd come here to help, not gain for himself.

Suddenly, a thought struck him. His freedom wouldn't serve, unless...

"What if I went public with it?" Peter asked on impulse.

Dumbledore, he saw, had the good grace to look surprised. Or perhaps the old man actually was surprised. With him, it was hard to tell. "What do you mean?"

"I could publicly renounce He-Wh--Voldemort," Peter explained. On second thought, it didn't seem like a good idea--but at least it was the right idea. His heart was pounding like the ocean in his ears. "I could prove that it's possible. Maybe, combined with Sirius' escape, people might realize that he's not infallible... It could help, right?

"Indeed it could." Dumbledore's blue eyes were shining. "But are you sure you want to do this?"

From somewhere deep inside Peter, a forgotten soul answered without hesitation. "Yes. I am."

The paper dropped on top of the tray that held his lunch, very closely missing his pudding in the process. Sirius looked up curiously from the hospital bed he occupied once again (Pomfrey had threatened to tie him down after she heard about what had happened over breakfast), immediately noticing that Remus' face was rather grim.

"It's out," the headmaster said unhappily, causing Sirius to finally glance down at the copy of the Daily Prophet in front of him.

SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN

by Eric Dummingston, Special Correspondent

On November 12, 1981, Sirius Black, a well-known Auror, was captured by

agents of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. At the time, he was serving as the

Secret Keeper for James and Lily Potter, and their then eighteen-month-old

son, Harry, in the performance of the immensely complicated Fidelius Charm.

Like so many others captured by Death Eaters, he was assumed dead. Ten

years later, he escaped Azkaban Fortress.

Once the Ministry of Magic's high-security and inescapable prison, Azkaban

became the headquarters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named over five years

ago. Since that time, many witches and wizards associated with the light side

have been held within its walls, yet none had managed to escape--until now.

Perhaps, Black has become a new word for hope.

Despite how impossible the feat may seem, sources indicate that Black

managed to make his way to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

upon his escape. Reports are sketchy at this time, but he has apparently

received prestigious visitors already, ranging from James and Lily Potter

to the Minister of Magic himself. He is rumored to be in near-critical condition

at the present, yet all signs suggest that he is not under the influence or

control of the Dark Lord.

Although this may seem unlikely to many, the facts must first be considered.

Before his capture, Sirius Black was perhaps the rising star of the Ministry's

Auror Division, mentored by the legendary Mad-Eye Moody and reputed to be

the best of his generation, which included even the present-day head of the Auror

Division, James Potter. Even though it remains to be seen how a decade in

Death Eater hands may have affected Black, it is apparent that he retained

enough power and foresight to break out of the fortress that the Dark Lord

would have the world believe unbreachable.

Wizards of this type have been sorely needed in the Wizarding world in recent

years, and there are certainly many who will look to Black as a hero, and with

seemingly good cause. His example might yet be proof of what the Ministry

has been claiming for some time; He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is not all-

powerful. In such a dark era, it is good to be reminded of the light once in a

while, and this miraculous escape seems to have done just that for many.

Sirius Black is the last surviving member of one of the famous Fourteen Families,

the very oldest and most powerful families in the Wizarding World. His younger

brother, Regulus Black died under suspicious circumstances in 1981. Neither

Hogwarts nor the Ministry could be reached for comment.

The headline attracted others' attention as well.

She was staring at it with unreadable gray eyes, and Severus had the sense to let her read it several times before he even tried to speak. Julia wouldn't have heard him before that, at any rate, and he was willing to wait. She was his friend, after all, and he knew how hard this had to be hitting her. Even his animosity with Black didn't blind him to that as she sat frozen and speechless before him. Finally, though, he judged that the time was right.

"There comes a time," Severus said softly, "when every Death Eater has to make a choice."

"A choice?" Julia echoed quietly. She was still sitting at Domus Archipater's kitchen table with the Daily Prophet spread out before her, but at least she had looked in his direction.

"A choice," he confirmed, leaning lightly on the back of her chair. "About the dark road we tread. We must look at the decisions we have made, and chose to either stand by them--or to strike off on a new path."

Ever so slowly, Julia reached up to brush a tangled strand of blond hair away from her eyes, which burned into his own. She wasn't a fool, Severus knew. Julia understood exactly what he was saying. Why, however, she could not yet know.

"And what did you do?" she asked cautiously.

"I chose."

Both eyebrows rose expectantly; her features were cold, but pain and betrayal were dancing in her eyes. "Chose?"

"Yes," Severus replied. I can trust her, he told himself. If I can't, I'm a dead man. He forced himself to let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Do you remember what Dumbledore said the day of my graduation, about choosing between what is right and what is easy? I realized that he was correct, and I made my choice."

"But you...?" Confusion flickered across her features. He knew this wasn't what Julia had expected. In fact, it wasn't what he had expected. He'd never before told another Death Eater the truth, had never been that foolish. And Severus knew full well the consequences if Julia could not be trusted, knew the painful and slow death he would face--but he could trust her. Snape took a deep breath and felt it rattle around in his chest. He had to.

"I am a Death Eater, yes. And I have been spying on Voldemort for thirteen years."

She was on her feet as his white knuckles gripped the back of the chair that now formed an unbreachable wall between them. All pretense at coolness was gone, too, and Julia stared at him with eyes that were wide with shock and--yes, admit it to yourself, Severus--betrayal.

"You what?" she demanded.

"I decided," Severus said very precisely, "that doing the right thing was more important to me than power." Something in her wounded eyes pushed him to cross a line he'd only even touched once. "I chose to walk another road, to--for the first time in my life--protect others instead of abusing them. I will never make up for what I have done, but I am willing to sacrifice heart and soul, if necessary, to try."

There was a long moment of silence following the confession he'd only made once before, and that in far different circumstances. His life was in her hands, and they both knew it. Finally, Julia spoke in an awed voice. "You have been spying on the Dark Lord for thirteen years?"

"Nearly, yes." He looked her in the eye. It was the least he could do.

"But why...?"

"I got sick of pretending that I liked it," Severus replied honestly. "I grew tired of lying, even to myself. I couldn't revel in the death and pain any longer. I had to act, or go insane."

She stared at him, reading, judging--and for once, Severus wondered what Julia saw until she looked away. She had always been one of the few who had known the real Severus Snape, but now she was seeing a side of him that he never released. This was the soul he tried to pretend he no longer had, and it was odd to release it. Julia's voice was very small when she spoke, but her words were not what he expected after so long a hesitation.

"It must be very lonely," she said.

He blinked, and then shrugged. "Someone has to do it."

"But you will probably die." Her eyes searched his face, begging him to prove her wrong. However, he could not.

"This is worth it."

Julia sat down, staring again at the Daily Prophet's headline story. "Is it?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"You tell me this because you want me to do the same," Julia stated flatly. "Why? What makes you think I'd want to?"

"I'm not a blind man, Julia." Very gently, Severus laid his hands on her shoulders and was very glad when she did not pull away. "Do you think I missed the tears in your eyes when you learned that he lives? Do you think I've ever not known that you love him? And you didn't join Voldemort for the same reasons I did. You never sought power. You simply wanted revenge on the world for taking him away."

She let out a very small sigh that sounded suspiciously like a quiet sob, but Severus would never dare make the comparison. Julia forced a laugh. "You hate him."

"So? That doesn't change what you are, and you've always been my friend." Even when so many others proved false.

"What do I do?"

He came around to kneel beside her, keeping his right hand on her left shoulder. "What do you want to do?"

There was a hesitation, the unavoidable moment of doubt and fear. Julia bit her lip briefly, catching it between her front teeth as if that hold her emotions back, but when she looked up at him, her gray eyes were clear. They met Severus' without flinching, and then grew cold.

"I want revenge," she said simply.