Promises Unbroken

Promises Unbroken

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Shadows and Dust

Eleven years ago, if anyone had told her that she'd be where she was now, Julia would have told them they were crazy. Nine years ago, if anyone had told her that she'd be doing what she was doing now, she would have laughed in their face. No way, she would have said, would she ever be stupid enough to spy on the Dark Lord.

Yet here she was, having had a choice laid before her by one of her oldest and best friends and having been unable to simply ignore it. Urged on by Severus Snape and now having already met in secret with Albus Dumbledore, Julia Malfoy was now a full-fledged spy in the service of the Order of the Phoenix. Two days before, she'd set both feet firmly on a road that few others had ever lived to tread; the chances of dying, she knew, were extraordinarily high. Yet she'd made the choice, not because of an attack of conscience, but because of one man. Julia closed her eyes and tried to still her racing heart. The effort at control didn't really help. All she saw was his face.

Sirius Black had been the best thing that ever happened to her, and his death had been quite possibly the worst. She'd known of him for years, of course, before she really met him--what Slytherin didn't know of the Gryffindor Quartet of troublemakers? She'd played Quidditch against him, too, but hadn't ever really talked to him until she'd been responsible for nearly cracking his skull open with a well-aimed bludger. She hadn't apologized, of course (she was a Slytherin, after all, and beaters took their chances), but had been very surprised when Black had stopped to compliment her on a well-aimed hit the next day. The fact that he had done so had struck Julia, not because he was a Gryffindor, but because he was a Black. She was so accustomed to the older Wizarding families' prejudices against women in Quidditch that she'd never expected him to do anything but ignore her.

Chance encounters took over from there, although she never would really know if pure chance guided their meetings, or if there was something more. As one thing led to another, they slowly came together. Julia had not been a stranger to relationships, but from the beginning, Sirius was different. He could make her laugh like no one else could, could tease her with a smile and never awaken the Malfoy pride. He also cared like no one else ever had, yet was still willing to trust her; Sirius had never begrudged Julia her friends, just like she'd never minded the fact that he was friends with a Potter, a dirt-poor pureblood, and the school's biggest coward. But most importantly, with Sirius she could be herself. With him Julia could drop the Malfoy coldness and forget about the importance of purity and blood, of money and power. What she had been raised to see as the cornerstones of the world were suddenly less important because she could laugh. She could cause trouble. And she could simply be herself.

No one at Hogwarts had been too surprised that they'd come together. The fact that he was a Gryffindor and she a Slytherin didn't even come into the equation; he was a Black, and she was a Malfoy. It was perfectly acceptable, and her parents had even been pleased.

Until Sirius had graduated and become an Auror.

His choice had forced one upon her, as well. By the time Julia graduated a year later, her parents were dead and Lucius was the head of the family. Lucius, who was rapidly rising to power at the Dark Lord's right hand through a succession of ruthless moves and brutal intelligence. And then there was Sirius, who was the shining star of his generation in the Aurors, already marked by Death Eaters as one to watch. Leaving Hogwarts, she'd had to choose a side.

She chose Sirius.

It hadn't been easy to turn her back on Lucius' path, but the fact that it wasn't her own made things simpler. Julia had never reveled in power; she had wanted to be a magical archeologist for as long as she could remember. Darkness had never interested her; she was much more fascinated by making discoveries. She studied hard because she wanted to, not because her parents thought that was the proper path for a young witch to take. She'd played Quidditch because the sport allowed her to be herself, and it was another way of proving that her life was her own. Julia had always been fiercely independent, Malfoy or no, and was certainly Slytherin enough not to sacrifice her own choices for the mere desire of her family. Lucius was willing to put up with her so long as she stayed neutral. Julia didn't really care.

Everything had changed when Sirius was captured. She would never forget the day that Remus Lupin showed up at her door, pale featured and pained. He hadn't had to tell her, then; she'd known. And for ten years she had thought Sirius was dead.

Somehow along the way she'd ended up as a Death Eater. How no longer really mattered; she'd ceased to care about who won when Sirius died, and Julia had to chose a side. So, the second time around she had chosen family, because for a Malfoy, there was nowhere else to turn. Until now.

Rage had guided her hand this time. Anger at the Dark Lord for keeping Sirius in hell for ten years, anger at her brother for knowing and lying to her face, anger at herself for never realizing: all had played a part. Conscience had nothing to do with it; Julia wasn't a conventional Death Eater, and she rarely took part in the Dark Lord's revels. He excused her because she was of much more use elsewhere, digging through ruins and living the life of a respected magical archeologist. Voldemort was always interested in the Dark artifacts of past times, and Julia had uncovered not a few for him. When she killed, she did so quickly, and tried very hard not to care. Right and wrong, she had long since decided, did not matter.

But part of her was always aware that she was losing more and more of herself the deeper she went. Now, though, at least her decision was her own, and the consequences were something she could face without flinching. And it was the right thing, even if the fire had died and Sirius never wanted to see her again. At the very least she would thank him, though, for opening this door.

My choice, she thought quietly, adjusting her mask. My consequences. This was the first time in years she could think that without lying to herself. Severus was right. It is refreshing to choose, even if this may be the death of me. Julia strode forward quickly, passing through the great oak doors that led to Voldemort's throne room. A long walkway stretched before her, at the end of which sat the most feared Dark wizard in the history of her world. He was alone, which was somewhat surprising; lately, Lucius had been almost constantly by the Dark Lord's side. A sense of dread prickled down Julia's spine, but she pushed it away. At least she knew that she hadn't been betrayed; if this was to be her death, she knew all the other Death Eaters would be there to witness it.

As she walked, Julia pulled the mask away. She'd been in the fold long enough to know that Voldemort liked to look at his follower's faces, undoubtedly to better utilize his skill at Legilimency. Julia resisted the urge to take a deep breath; if there was ever a time when she would be at risk, this would be it. Being alone with the Dark Lord would certainly put her rusty skills in Occlumency to the test--yet for the first time in her life, she was profoundly grateful that Severus had convinced her to study it with him back in her fifth year when everyone else thought he was just a slimy and skinny nerd. It was a skill that she didn't advertise having, and for that, now, she was doubly thankful.

"My Lord," she said quietly, kneeling before him.

"Julia..." the cold voice hissed. "Rise."

She did as beckoned, waiting patiently to learn why he had called her. She certainly had not been expecting the summons; Julia had been about to depart for South America once more, and although she'd been searching for reasons to delay her trip, she had not expected Voldemort to provide one.

"I am certain that you have heard of the escape of a certain old...acquaintance of yours?" the Dark Lord suddenly asked, catching Julia by surprise.

She clamped down on fury that threatened to rise, surprised by the anger in his voice. "Yes, My Lord."

"Good..." Voldemort hissed quietly. In the following silence, Julia was tempted to ask why, but she knew better. Finally, he continued: "I have a mission for you."

"How may I serve, Master?" Her heart thundered in her throat. If he wanted her to--

"You will find Sirius Black," the Dark Lord commanded. "You will renew your relationship, pretending to have had a change of heart because of his survival. Through him, you will gain information and pass it on to me. When I deem the time right, you will deliver Black. Do you understand?"

Julia's stomach clenched so hard that she thought that she would be sick. On one hand, she was being offered the perfect excuse to be a spy--but on the other, she would be expected to betray Sirius in the end. Her mind whirled, and she fought to empty it, struggling to keep a straight face. Does he really think I could betray someone I love? she wondered incredulously. Or was there something more? Was this some sort of trap? No, she answered her own question. He does think I'd betray Sirius, simply because he's never known love. If there's one thing he does not understand, it is the human heart.

"Yes, My Lord," she answered smoothly. "I understand perfectly."

"And there will be no conflicts of interest?" Voldemort pressed.

"Of course not, Master," Julia replied immediately. "My heart belongs entirely to your cause."

The Dark Lord smiled and dismissed her. As she exited the throne room, Julia had to fight the urge to smile. Severus, she decided, would be proud of the sarcasm in that last little line.

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The media was in a frenzy. First, the Pettigrew article had appeared that morning, an exclusive for the Daily Prophet written by none other than Eric Dummingston, and now there was a press conference scheduled with the famed Azkaban escapee, Sirius Black. The conference was scheduled to take place in a special room at the Ministry of Magic, organized, rumor claimed, by none other than Albus Dumbledore himself. Reporters from worldwide newspapers and magazines were rushing to get seats, and the spacious room was already jam-packed beyond comfort. However, none were complaining; ever since his escape, Sirius Black had flatly refused to be interviewed, photographed, or even quoted. Now, however, that seemed to have finally changed.

In a side room, two figures spoke quietly. One was pacing nervously, and the other was sitting motionless in a decrepit-looking wooden chair.

"I still don't like this," James complained, stopping his pacing long enough to look at Sirius.

"What's not to like?" Sirius wondered

"This entire idea of yours' and Remus'," James spat. "What is there to like about it?" Watching his friend shrug in response didn't help James' nerves, either. "It's the perfect place for a Death Eater ambush."

"In the Ministry? Give me a break, James." Sirius rolled his eyes. "No one is going to get through, especially with Project Guardian working and with the dozen Aurors you have posted all over the place."

James groaned. "I still don't like it."

"Neither do I, really, " his friend admitted, still appearing calm.

"Then why the hell are you doing this?" he exploded.

Sirius looked up at him and answered in a hard voice. "Well, first off, James, I'm rather mad at the lying bat." There was no question who that lying bat could be; this time, Rita Skeeter had taken on the wrong wizard. "Second of all, I'm not about to live the rest of my life with every person I run into wondering if I'm sane or not. Or if I can't handle what happened in Azkaban."

"You're not ready for this, Sirius," James pleaded quietly, hating to say so but knowing that was the truth.

"I know," Sirius replied. "But sometimes war is like that, isn't it? We have to do things we're not ready for. Voldemort's not gong to wait until I'm ready, either. I've got to fight back, and I've got to start now."

James let himself slump into a nearby wall. "I know."

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"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Ministry of Magic," Clifford Meadows, the Ministry's press secretary said cheerfully. Due to a well-applied Sonorus Charm, his voice boomed loudly in the circular room, easy to hear and understand. "The Ministry would like to thank you for coming on such short notice, and without further delay, allow me to introduce Sirius Black."

Someone could have dropped an anvil on the floor and it would have been ignored as the room fell silent. All eyes swung to face the youngish, black haired wizard as he took the podium, measuring him carefully against the description in Skeeter's article. While he did indeed walk with a slight limp, favoring his right leg, and was clearly underweight, there was still no denying the confidence with which he moved or the alert eyes shining out from only a slightly gaunt face. His shoulder length black hair was clean and fell with a kind of haphazard elegance that could not have been planned, and his goatee was neatly trimmed. Except for the lines around the eyes and obvious lack of nutrition, Sirius Black looked very little different from the way many remembered him looking a decade before.

"Thank you for coming." His quiet voice carried easily, amplified although no one had seen him lift his wand. "I'm new at this press conference business, so you'll have to excuse my abruptness. I will answer a few questions when I am finished, but I would like to make a statement first." His chin lifted as he peered out at the assembled witches and wizards.

"Lately, certain individuals have seen fit to print lies about me and attribute others to some of my friends. I am here today to put an end to that." Black paused, and several reporters allowed their eyes to drift in Rita Skeeter's general direction, just to see how she would react. Typically, though, she only smiled, tapping one green manicured nail against the quill in her hand.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, you know my story. I spent ten years as a prisoner, five of which were in Azkaban. I have faced things that you would probably not believe, even were I to tell you, and I have survived. I am not insane. No insane man would have escaped Azkaban.

"Nor am I what you have been led to believe. I will admit to nightmares, something anyone who has ever been near a Dementor can understand. I will admit that I have been changed by my experiences. But I will not admit to insanity, and I will not crumble under pressure. I have been fighting this war, in one way or another, since I was seventeen years old." His blue eyes blazed. "And make no mistake about it--I will continue to do so. No matter what happens, I will fight Voldemort until the end."

Silence reigned, and the assembled reporters couldn't believe that Sirius Black, prisoner of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for ten years, would dare say the name 'Voldemort.' There were so many who feared to do so, yet the man who had been face to face with that horror for a decade did not.

Either he was insane, or he had a kind of courage that they weren't accustomed to seeing.

Black let them sit in that silence for a long moment, allowing his words to sink in until they began to understand. Finally, he continued in a quieter voice. "This concludes my statement. I will now take questions."

Another silent heartbeat passed, and then the room exploded. Reporters vied for his attention through shouting, waving their arms in the air, or, in a few cases, shooting sparks with their wands. Those foolish few who tried the latter were quickly calmed by the dozen Aurors who ringed the conference room, who discouraged further efforts by promising to expel any who made use of magic. The Aurors' presence, though, wasn't merely to preserve order. They were clearly on hand to protect Sirius Black, directed by none other than James Potter himself, who stood quietly at the back of the room. Out of all the Aurors, he was the closest to Black, which reminded several reporters that they were old friends.

Finally, Black pointed out a willowy looking witch, who shot him a dazzling smile before speaking. "Belinda Caldrum, The Sunday Seer," she identified herself. "Now that you are free, what are you going to do now, Mr. Black?"

"As most of you know, I used to be an Auror," he responded. "And I've talked the matter over with the head of the Division. I plan to reenter the field."

"But wouldn't you say that you've already done your part?" Caldrum asked.

"This isn't a war where one can simply 'do their part'," Black replied. "And I'm not the type to sit on the sidelines."

"What about the rumors that the Ministry doesn't believe you?" one wizard shouted.

"If there are such rumors, no one has dared say them to my face." He smiled coolly, and there seemed to be a hint of something dangerous in his eyes, but it passed before any of the gathered witches and wizards could be sure. He pointed to another witch.

"Doris Macintosh, Witch Weekly," she piped up immediately. "I'm sure there are many witches out there who are wondering if you have any current romantic interests. Is there someone special, Mr. Black?"

Black gave a lopsided smile that the photographers were quick to take advantage of. "No. Not at the moment."

"Eric Dummingston, Daily Prophet," another identified himself. "As an outside observer, what do you think of the Ministry's chances in the war?"

"I think we will win."

The bold statement didn't faze Dummingston a bit. He wasn't the most famous reporter in the Wizarding world for nothing, after all. "Why is that?"

"Because we have to," Black said evenly. "And although I'm hardly an unbiased observer, because it's never too late. I'm living proof that Voldemort is not invincible."

"Mr. Black, how is that you can bear to say the name of You-Know-Who after so many years in his hands?" Albert Addams of Wizard's Digest asked. "Are you not afraid to do so?"

Black's face closed off. "Fear will kill you in Azkaban."

"And how was your time in Azkaban?"

All eyes swiveled to face the speaker, and she smiled sweetly. "Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet," she identified herself needlessly. There was an ominous moment of silence, and then she added, "And how did you escape?"

Black's face had grown pale, although if that was from anger or emotion none could tell. Finally, he spoke through clenched teeth, having obviously made a great effort to keep his temper in control.

"I am afraid," he said in short, clipped tones, "that I must decline to answer either one of those questions. The first because it is my business, and mine alone, and the second because as interesting as the subject is, that's a secret I'd like to save for later use."

However, although his response was polite enough, the acid gaze he pointed in Skeeter's direction was enough to make her shiver and wilt. Unable to meet his eyes, the reporter turned away, attempting to smile and failing miserably. At the same time, Black stepped back from the podium.

"Good day, Ladies and Gentlemen. I thank you for your time."

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"Nicely done, Padfoot," James said when they were alone again. Now, however, the two were deep in the Auror Division's headquarters in the Ministry, walking down the hall amid curious glances. "Too bad Remus had to be at Hogwarts this morning. He'd have like to see that."

"And too bad Peter would be mobbed if he set foot anywhere near the press," Sirius agreed quietly. His head was still reeling from the effort of appearing so calm and controlled before so many strangers, but it had been easier than he'd expected it to be. The conference had been necessary, of course--he wouldn't have ever done it otherwise--but it had been hard. Only the knowledge of his friends' undying support let him pull that one off.

"How are you doing?"

"All right, I guess," he admitted. "It could have been worse."

"Yeah," James agreed. "I thought Skeeter had you there."

"I was ready for her," Sirius replied sourly. "This time."

It was strange walking through the Division again. Once, he'd spent nearly eighteen hours a day in this place, working desperately to arrest Voldemort's ascension to power. He'd been working solo sometimes, or partnered with his old Mentor, Alastor Moody. After that, he'd been partnered with James, and boy had the two of them wrecked havoc together... The memories, although trying at times, were good. Now, though, complete strangers sat at familiar desks. Sirius swallowed, feeling out of place.

"So, how soon do you want to start?" James suddenly asked.

"Beg pardon?"

"Re-orientation training," his friend clarified. "Unless you've changed your mind since our conversation this morning."

"No. I haven't," Sirius responded quickly. He shrugged an apology. "My mind was elsewhere."

"I can tell."

"Then whenever you're ready for me," he answered. A part of him almost regretted not taking Remus' offer, then, but that idea faded quickly enough. He needed to fight, needed to be a part of this. He'd been away too long.

"This way."

James led him to a mid-sized cubicle in which a slim, black-haired witch sat reading her way through a pile of reports. She was rosy cheeked, yet her bland features were somewhat severe with concentration, until James cleared his throat and she looked up. The witch rose immediately.

"This is Hestia Jones. She'll be conducting your re-orientation training," James said. "Hestia, this is Sirius Black."

Sirius held out a hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Her grip was firm, but he read doubt in her eyes. Inwardly, Sirius sighed. He supposed that he would get that a lot, but that didn't make it any less irritating. Clearly, she thought he was going to be a lot of work.

He smiled slightly. Obviously, he'd have to prove her wrong.

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There was a knock, and Arabella Figg looked up from the gargantuan pile of paperwork on her desk. Anything was worth the relief. "Come in!"

Surprisingly enough, it was Alice Longbottom, a senior Auror who, although one of 'Bella's good friends, rarely came to visit due to both their heavy schedules. "Sorry to bother you, 'Bella."

"It's no bother," Figg assured her. "I was hoping for a break, anyway. Sit down, please."

Alice sat, extending a manila folder as she did so. "James thought you should see this right away."

Arabella accepted the file immediately, glancing at the name engraved on its edge. Much to her surprise, it read Bartemius Crouch, Junior. The Head of the DMLE looked up in surprise. "What's this about?"

"A few weeks ago, we received an anonymous tip about the young Mr. Crouch. At first, it seemed only to be a prank, but James assigned a junior Auror to poke around anyway, and things started to pan out. So I took the case and have had a team tailing Crouch for twenty-one days. The evidence is solid, 'Bella. He's a Death Eater."

"A what?" Arabella felt her own jaw drop. "Crouch's son?"

"It surprised me, too. He's always seemed like a nice boy," Alice replied. "But I've back checked everything, and one of my men managed to follow him to a Death Eater revel. He's one of them."

Arabella blinked slowly, flipping through the file as the facts lined up in her head. "This is going to be a godawful mess," she remarked quietly.

"The Deputy Minister's son, I know," her friend replied. "If it's any consolation, we don't think Crouch Senior knows."

"Oh, great..." She sighed. This was going to create a media heyday on the Ministry, Arabella knew; the last thing they needed was for a senior Ministry member's son to turn out to be a Death Eater. Still, she believed Alice. Alice Longbottom had always been one of the best. "I'm going to have to look at this for awhile. Just to make sure."

"I understand." Alice smiled. "James said to tell you that he'll be around later to talk about it."

"Thanks."

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Author's Note: Anyone who wants to be on the update list and isn't, drop me a line at [email protected] and I'll put you on it.

Anyone who's interested in seeing the "Unbroken Universe" trailer, check it out (in Windows Media Player format) at the following link: Unbroken Trailer.